Grief

Well, I just found out that J.D. Salinger passed away yesterday. A mere weeks after finishing The Catcher in the Rye, and now I find out that he's gone. Such a wonderful story, such a beautiful character....so true to real life. Is it possible to feel so much grief for someone you've never met before? Or for the absolute death of your favorite literary character? This marks the death of his story. Holden Caulfield will certainly not be in another Salinger work. I feel so beside myself that I'm almost willing to cry over the devastation, but I'm at odds with the reason for feeling that way. Really, it's just a story afterall.

I still haven't gotten out of my Kings of Leon phase...and I probably won't for quite some time. That's the music on right now and I still haven't really gotten into the grove of one of the albums yet.

Etched on my heart, stained my soul
Moments never fleeting.
Songs from the moment,
Visions burst into sight
Goosebumps over my skin take me back.

The scent in the air, feeling the moment.
Encompassed in its cocoon, comfort in the warmth.
Blood spills from the wound, etched forever strong.


...still working on that one.

Arizona

Ok, so the song "Arizona" by Kings of Leon has stuck enough in my head that I've finally figured out part of the reason why. When I finished The Catcher in the Rye by Salinger a few weeks ago, I LOVED the character of Holden. Holden is such a great character. I love his attitude. I love the ease of his character. I love his openness to say whatever he wants, whenever he wants, to whomever he wants. He's a lot like what I would be like if I didn't have a filter. I battle with my filter, but most of the time, the filter works out for the better. Holden, on the other hand, doesn't much care. Now, I probably should have seen the end of the novel coming, but I was so disturbed...I LOVED his character. I mean, I'm completely enthralled with him...and I read the book weeks ago. Rarely am I so stuck on one character that I can't stop thinking about it. Books, sure, but one character...very rare. I was totally mesmerised by his story. Probably the language in the story that's so true to human life, that many writers don't come close to that sort of reality in a novel...that's what pulled me in. Holden is like the guy friend you want to always have on your side. (Thankfully, I have awesome guy friends who remind me a bit of Holden on occassion.) That's probably another reason I love him as a character.

At any rate, I started this post by talking about Kings of Leon, and that was my intention. This crazy song gets in my head and it isn't the lyrics, but it's the tone of the music that makes me think of Holden Caulfield walking around New York City trying to figure out what he's going to do next. I just feel like the music for the song is a sort of soundtrack to the novel. I suppose the line "too drunk to remember" reminds me of Holden for obvious reasons, and "I kinda think I like her/I kinda think I do" reminds me of his relationship with Jane Gallagher. The lyrics lend themselves to the decision for this to be a soundtrack moment, but there's something to be said for the instrumentals and his astrayed venture.

Be here Waiting...

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm completely consumed by whatever music is running around my head at that particular moment in time, but with lyrics like these, I just have to put them here. (Apparantly I'm on a Kings of Leon obsession...don't worry; it's a healthy obsession.)

Kings of Leon-On Call

She said call me now baby, and I'd come a running.
She said call me now baby, and I'd come a running.
If you'd call me now, baby then I'd come a running.

I'm on call, to be there.
One and all, to be there.
And When I fall, to pieces.
Lord you know, I'll be there waiting.

To be there.
To be there.

I'm on call, to be there.
One and all, to be there.
And When I fall, to pieces.
Lord you know, I'll be there waiting.

I'm gon' brawl, so be there.
One for all, I'll be there.
And when they fall, to pieces.
Lord you know, I'll be there laughing.

I'd come a running.
I'd come a running.
I'd come a running.

To be there.
To be there.

I'm on call, to be there.
I'm on call, to be there.
I'm on call, to be there.
I'm on call, to be there.

----------------------------------------------------
Now, I think this calls for some explanation. I'm one of those people who regards friends as family members. My girlfriends are like my sisters, and my guy friends are like brothers. I love them all dearly, and if anything were to happen to any one of them, I would be there as fast as I could make plans to cover hours at work and have arrangements made for my courses. I'm not sure what I'd do without my "extended family." I'm completely self-less when it comes to taking care of other people, sometimes to my detriment, but I wouldn't change how I feel about taking care of my friends since they've taken great care of me.

The lyrics are simple and straight-forward, but the sentiment is there. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, if it weren't for some of my dearest frinds, I'm not sure I'd be here right now.

Song lyrics currently stewing around in my head:

Kings of Leon-Arizona


That taste
All I ever needed
All I ever wanted
Too dumb to surrender

She shakes
Like the morning railway
Ch-ch-checking me out
Someone on a shoulder

The lamp
Flickers in the bedroom
She must feel as awkward
Whorehouse Arizona

Now go
Stand up to a giant
Say that I'm a fighter
Too drunk to remember
Too drunk to...

Shake hands
My face is laying on the pavement
Tasting something awful
I hate when that happens

She wades
In and out of sexy
She must be plum crazy
I kinda think I like her
I kinda think I do
---------------------------------------------------
I like the lyrics just fine for this one, but I think it's a mix with the instrumentation that really pulled me in from the beginning. That and something raspy and real about his voice....There's definitely something mind blowing about getting lost in the moment of singing a song and channelling the energy to jump inside that moment.

I think the first two stanzas are probably my favorite. And at the end of the 4th stanza as he says the last "To" Ugh, my heart stops a little in that instant. Love it.

Lately, I've been feeling....

a lot like this:


Let me preface by saying, I think this is the first picture that I've actually posted on this blog of myself that isn't my profile picture. It quite possibly could be the first photo period.

The last few weeks I've been (in a serious way) emotionally charged. Perhaps some of that will go away as time goes on, but for now, I'm so uncertain of so many things that I'm scared, edgy, nervous. All of my worst habits are nervous habits. I used to bite the inside of my lower lip when i got nervous-not sure how this habit got started-but recently I've started biting my actual lip to the point of bleeding. This cannot be good... The worst part of it is that I didn't even notice I was doing it until it was pointed out for me. For some reason the first few times I didn't even taste the blood on my lips.

I need some serious time to sort out the conundrum in my head. I'm going to need to start advocating for the mental health day as PTO for the workplace...

A box to be reopened, though it was never shut

Everyone always says, "This too shall pass" after something horrible has happened to you. I'd love to believe that these things can be dealt with and sealed away in some dark place, where the box will never have to be opened again. I, however, have certain life experiences that I'm nearly certain will be etched into my being for the rest of my life. At some point, I will come up with enough courage, focus, direction to write about those life altering events, but for now, I simply can't talk about it. I've read other people say that they will never get over certain life experiences, and I couldn't agree more. I don't think I'll ever stop thinking about it, or stop being in pain over it. That's probably the reason people see psychiatrists, but I don't believe in being psychoanalyzed. I don't believe in being medicated for something like this. The only way I know to deal with it is to just let the emotion come when it needs to. When I need to break down, then that's what I need to do. When I need some solitary time to get my thoughts sorted, then I need to be alone. I know what sort of space I need for certain things and there are just some topics that I'm not yet ready to put on a shelf in the back of my closet. I don't think it'll ever truly pass.

In all of that is the hardened heart of my past, a heart that will never be the same. I know that to some, my past was not difficult, and that I should be over all of it by now, but I don't believe in closed books. There are some books on my shelf that I've read over and over again, and I would still love them, even if I knew every word by heart. I still cry everytime I read The Notebook and I remember just where I was and what I was listening to the first time that I read it. I know the ending. I know it's coming. But everytime, I need a half a box of Kleenex just to make it to the end. The same thing happens with the film version.

I can always count on one thing, though. My emotions totally rule my existence. You'd think that with my hardened heart I'd be over that by now, but I'm still just as emotional and affected as I always have been. I completely let my emotions take over all rational thought... Now I'm inclined to believe that this isn't a bad thing, especially since emotion makes some of the best writing, however, in a time when you're needing to be rational more times than not, this becomes a problem. With that said, if I could live inside a jar with my bottled up emotions, I absolutely would.

Half of the time I write these and I wonder if I've made any sense at all...because mostly I just write to get it all out of my head and the writing takes a completely different form than what I had intended, but sometimes that's just necessary.

...And in the depths of my sadness, I will alone be. With myself and my thoughts, --forever we will be free.

This part of my life is called "Practice."

Something sparked in me this afternoon. Usually, on my days off I find myself catching up on housework, homework, organizing something, listening to music, running errands....rarely do I stay at home. So, after running some errands and taking a shower, I decided that despite the fact that I don't really have time this week for fun and games-I'm taking my Praxis exam on Saturday-I should get out my violin and test the waters.

After playing through some fairly easy stuff that I could just pick up and sight read, I have deciphered the following:

Did it hurt? Yes.
Did my fingers go numb? No.
Was a half hour a reasonable amount of time to play? Not really, but at this point, I'll take it.
I absolutely needed a break after playing for that long, and while that's not enough time for a girl who used to practice 4 hours everyday, a half hour is better than no practice time at all. My shoulder for some reason is hurting, so I'll need to stretch more than before I think.

Perhaps I'm in a good mood, or I'm not really sure....but I didn't break down and cry as I thought I would have. I'll get through this...and find myself somewhere in this mess.

Ring a bell?

Did I write this? No. But right now, it feels like I would have written something very similar. I have a hard time thinking that artists who write their own lyrics haven't gone through these experiences themselves, so I'm hoping that Flyleaf and I can commiserate about how we feel. Enough now.

"This Close" (Flyleaf)

I had a dream that we were dead
But we pretended we still lived
With no regrets, we never bled
And we took everything life could give
And came up broken, empty handed in the end

In the hearts of the blind
Something you'll never find
Is a vision of light
With the voice of the dead, I'm screaming

I dont know who I am anymore
Not once in life have I been real
But I've never felt this close before
I've been looking in your window
I've been dressing in your clothes
I've been walking dead
Watching you
Long enough to know I can't go on

Had a dream that fire fell
From an opening in the sky
And someone warned me of this hell
And I spit in his naive eye
And left him crying for my soul
He said would die

In the hearts of the blind
Something you'll never find
Is a vision of light
With the voice of the dead, I'm screaming

I dont know who I am anymore
Not once in life have I been real
But I've never felt this close before
I've been looking in your window
I've been dressing in your clothes
I've been walking dead
Watching you
Long enough to know I can't go on

In the hearts of the blind
Something you'll never find
Is a vision of light
With the voice of the dead, I'm screaming

I dont know who I am anymore
Not once in life have I been real
But I've never felt this close before
I've been looking in your window
I've been dressing in your clothes
I've been walking dead
Watching you
Long enough to know I can't go on

I've been looking in your window
I've been dressing in your clothes
I've been walking dead
Watching you
Long enough to know I can't go on

The State of being Worried

People often say that I worry too much, or that I think too much. Really, I worry that I worry too much...and that's saying something. Who worries about worrying?!? If I made a penny for every worry I had, I'd be a VERY rich girl. Unfortunately that's not the case. I over prepare for each scenario usually, and anxiety, more than anything else, rules my life. Anyone who knows me well enough really knows that I startle easily and that if there's something that makes me nervous, it'll make me nervous to the point of sickness.

Now, when I mean "to the point of sickness," I mean I literally. I'll get into a "mood" and stew over the issue until I've got an upset stomache that will just not go away or I worry myself into throwing up. This is something I'm going to have to hide. Once I start student teaching...mind you this is a year from now...I can't worry myself into sickness with my students. This definitely worries me. I'm worrying about the fact that something worries me....see a trend? Multi-layered worrying.

J.D. Salinger had a good rant about worrying in The Catcher in the Rye that went a little something like this:

"I was so damn worried, that's why. When I really worry about something, I don't just fool around. I even have to go to the bathroom when I worry about something. Only, I don't go. I'm too worried to go. I don't want to interrupt my worrying to go. If you knew Stradlater, you'd have been worried, too..."(40).

Really, I thought it was funny that I've been working on this blog for quite some time, and while I'm casually reading J.D. Salinger, I come across the perfect description of worrying. I have to say that though the book is filled with vulgar language (not that I much care, mind you), it truly is one of the best things I've read in awhile, and I'm only about half way through. I'm enthralled with the character of Holden. He's the stock character bad boy, but he's still the bad boy that you know in real life and are friends with. There are parts of the book that I find myself completely identifying with, and the things in between keep me searching for more. Reading the book is like talking with one of your friends over a beer about the messed up things in their life. I'm just so interested in what Holden's story has to offer that I keep going back and forth between reading it and trying to do some real work, but the "real work" is far less interesting...

At any rate, my worried state is something to be worked on, and perhaps someday I'll find the answer. I find myself constantly evolving, but sometimes the evolving process goes in directions that I have little control over it seems. This is something to be reconciled....not that I'm saying I need to be in control of it, but rather that I need to assist the evolving process into going a direction I understand...more on that later.

Another New Year

I'm so ready for 2010. Not really sure why, but a change of pace will be good. Life is easier when I'm busy...don't ask me why that makes sense, but I have less time to spend inside my head, and that, for the most part, is a good thing. The end of my semester was a traumatic experience...not because I did horribly. (I got a 4.0 so that certainly isn't true...) I wrote some very painful confessions in a formal paper for my professor to read. Things that I would normally only write here, rather than for something I deliberately know someone will read. I had a rather difficult time attempting to get around writing about my life directly, but the assignment necessitated some soul searching and some divulging. Not one of my finer moments in terms of holding the pieces all together.

For now, I'll leave you with the final thoughts from my paper. I almost never include academic writing here, but since I'm having writer's block (Really, I'm feeling the need to write on paper these days, but haven't yet picked out which notebook I'm feeling right now...)

My philosophy on education stems from personal experience and personal triumphs over disappointment. Perhaps it is because of these wounds that I find myself relating to an Existential viewpoint, but despite these views, I am also an Idealist. Even though this seems to be an odd coupling, my background and life experiences seem to explain how I have formulated these conceptions. One of the Freedom Writers in Teaching Hope says, “The youth’s voices echo in my soul and stitch the open wounds of my past” (74). This quote simply explains how I feel about my path towards a career in education. My aim is to listen and guide students through experiences that as an adolescent are difficult to cope with, to guide them to find the truths in life, and to aid in their personal development. There may be a student like me, who had their life focused on one goal, but changed avenues and found something that they love differently, but equally. I strive to become the teacher that listens to the voice of each student, to guide him or her towards the inner truths of life, and strives for them to find their individuality or uniqueness. Perhaps with the voices of my students, I too will be able to stitch and heal the open wounds of my past.

Rings a bell in my heart....

These words keep spinning in my head...

"Within the depths of my sadness and lonliness, I can love you, Although I cannot be with you..."

Oh, my aching head will pine over this for awhile...
a sickness it creates..

Song of the Moment

I'm in love with this...

Kings of Leon-Revelry

What a night for a dance,
You know I'm a dancing machine
With a fire in my bones
And the sweet taste of kerosene

I get lost in the night
So high I don't want to come down
To face the loss
Of the good thing
That I had found

Woo hoo hoooo
Woo hoo hoooo

In the dark of the night
I can hear you callin my name
With the hardest of hearts,
I still feel full of pain

So I drink and I smoke
And I ask if you're ever around
Even though it was me who drove us
Right in the ground

See the time we shared it
Was precious to me
But all the while
I was dreamin of revelry

I wanna run baby run
Like a stream down a mountainside
With the wind at my back
I don't ever even bat an eye

Just know it was you all along
Who had a hold of my heart
But the demon and me
Were the best of friends from the start

So the time we shared it
Was precious to me
All the while
I was dreamin of revelry
Dreamin of revelry

And I told myself boy away you go
It rained so hard that it felt like snow
Everything came tumbling down on me

In the back of the woods
In the dark of night
The Palest of the old moonlight
Everything just felt so incomplete
Dreamin of revelry
Dreamin of revelry
Dreamin of Revelry....

30 Seconds til Meltdown...

I've just finished the most painful paper I've written since the poem I wrote in high school called, "Torrance." It's not the writing itself, but the content that bothers me. It's a story I'm not completely comfortable with admitting, and especially a story I do not like to share. It still pains me to think about what I've lost as a result of my physical impossibility to move forward and push through. That's simply what it is....a physical impossibility. If I push through it, it will become damaged. More physical pain. More emotional pain... As it is, I'm living with a bandage over a massive, gaping bullet hole. I haven't played my violin and years...and I hardly know myself some days because of it. The music has been pulled and stripped from me, and I'm left bare and naked in the corner. That blanket of security, now gone.

I used a quote in my paper that says, "The youth's voices echo in my soul and stitch the open wounds of my past." But, stitches do not hold back the pain...

I Love Philosophy

Someone once told me I wasn't smart enough to understand The Matrix (1999). This, I have never forgotten. It has become, and is now, one of my favorite movies. I can't begin to explain how painful that statement is, and how it has also pushed me to move forward and to break from the mold.

Today, I'm writing a paper on the different philosophical tenets imbedded within the movie. It brings a smile to my face knowing that I have the background knowledge of philosophy that will make my paper shine above the rest.

Though, I do have to say that if I were without my favorite philosophy music, a mix of Sigur Ros, Moby, and the Donnie Darko Soundtrack, I wouldn't have the same thought process while writing this paper. It is a ritual, and a bit of a supersitition about paper writing-more specifically philosophy paper writing. I've written many a paper without without this mix, however, it is a necessity for philosophy. It puts me in the right mindset to get the job done and for it to be focused and directed. No other music that I've found, as of yet, gives me the same effect. And yet, I never tire of this music, eventhough I've listened to it hundreds of times.

Song of the Day: Approach/Dream-Sigur Ros.

Again...

Sometimes I have to read things over and over again. It's a validation of the way I once felt, or being able to slip back into a moment that I want to live over again. A moment that that I can't let go of and that, like a lucid dream, I can slip back into. Sometimes its music, sometimes it's a novel, sometimes it's a feeling that sweeps through me all by itself. I'm not sure how it happens exactly, but the threads of the past are woven tightly throughout me. For right now, I just finished revisiting The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. It's an entirely cliche novel, but one that I could read over and over again, and it would still bring out the same emotions in me. I would still cry at the same points in the story, I would still feel the rush of excitement when I hear about the love of Noah and Allie. It still overcomes me and I'm lost in the emotion. I feel like all of my senses are on a higher level. I remember where I was when I was reading it. I remember the music in the background, the late evening hours I spent finishing the book, and if I looked through journals of poetry, I'm sure I could approximate the time frame in which I finished the novel. I feel like I can hear the words in the letters Noah writes to Allie, I can smell the outdoors and the rain while they canoe. I can also smell my own surroundings better for some reason...I'm sure it's a physical hightened sense of smell because of the crying and the clearing of my sinuses, but I tend to shy away from the scientific reasoning behind this phenomena. I'm more interested in the emotion behind it.

There are certain albums that make me feel this way...

John Mayer's Room For Squares It's an album that has multiple meanings for me, but I remember those moments very well...

Moby's Play It still gives me butterflies. The good kind.

Staind's Break The Cycle Aaron Lewis, you spoke to me when I needed to hear.


And then there are certain songs:

Eric Clapton's Wonderful Tonight
Fleetwood Mac's Landslide
Debussy's Claire de Lune
Jason Mraz-Who Needs Shelter
Imogen Heap-Hide and Seek
Tori Amos-Gold Dust

The song that reminds me of reading The Notebook: John Mayer's Great Indoors. It's more of a mood set rather than the lyrics specifically.


There are more...but those are the first to come to mind.

It pains me to know that most people are not so in touch with their emotions...or with their own minds. I know I'm am stuck inside of my own head most of the time, but I wouldn't give this up. Never would I give up how intuitive I am to my own feelings. I delight in the moments when I feel as if I am weightless, where I do not feel the burdens of everyday, though these moments have gotten shorter and shorter as I've gotten older. I hope that as I become older, they will become more frequent and longer. I delight in the moments where I feel like my head is all that matters and the thoughts inside of it, full of insightful things meant only for myself. Perhaps that's selfish of me, but they were made for me and no one else. This is not a fault of the brain, but a gift of the self.


I get pulled in by the emotion, but I just can't let it go...

Writers World...

I've been a bit of a writer for years. I've dabbled into various mediums trying to figure which I like best, but mostly I'm a free verse writer. Not really social commentary, but self realization I suppose. I think the best moments when I'm writing are when I'm thinking about music, though I woudln't call myself a music writer, a music critic, or (really) a music analyst. There's just something about listening to the right music when I'm writing, or I feel most inspired to write about, well, anything, once I've had that transcendent moment with music (see post: Have to Write...)

I'm getting back in the grove of writing on my blog and attempting to find more time to write here, and that's always a struggle. There are times I want to run from what I believe, run away from the thoughts that get bottled up in my head, and really, that's where this comes in for me. Writing is like therapy for me. It brings me clarity the same way running does.

I guess I should have known years ago that as much as I love music and as much as I can't live without it, I can't live without my writing more. All the way through my earlier years, I never left the house without a notebook and a pen. I haven't done this since I started college I suppose. Now, I always have my planner with me, almost always have a novel of some kind along in my purse. These things are important to me, but I have my planner to keep me on time and a book to take up time while I'm waiting. Essentially, my life now revolves around time instead of leisure. I made the sacrifices in some of the things I loved, to create new things I love. I value the education that I have and that I worked so hard for it. I began to write different things, but I still wrote. My music has come and gone through periods now and it is very painful to think of beginning again. I haven't played in so long, I'm sure I still could, and I'm sure I still want to, but the fear eats at me. What if it still physically hurts? and an even bigger fear...what if it doesn't?

I can continue to write all the way through my life, and I plan on doing just that. There are some major fears in my mind about it though. Will I be able to have the writers world that I want? Will I someday be able to have a room of my own for writing? Will I find solitude in writing and reading the way I naievely did years earlier? I certainly hope that those parts of me have not died as I've become more and more practical. I've always been emotional, affected by everything around me. It is hard for me to take my emotions out of my work. It is hard for me to not find the little tidbits in novels that show the most emotion, show heartache, or devastation. The parts that mostly affect mering deep inside of me, but for some time now have gotten lost in the everyday menial tasks of life. The everday seems more important and rates an "A" on my list of things to take care of. Writing, of course, is further down the list. Having time to reflect is certainly something I find meaningful and important for many reasons. Honestly, having the time to sift through it gives me a grip on reality, even if it is only the reality that I see.

TR-009 Edge of Desire

Because today, I just can't write for myself....


Young and full of running, tell me where has that taken me? Just a great figure eight or a tiny infinitiy?
Love is really nothing, but a dream that keeps waking me
For all of my trying, we still end up dying, How can it be?

Don't say a word, just come over and lie here with me/'Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see/I want you so bad I'll go back on the things I believe/There I just said it, I'm scared you'll forget about me.

So you and full of running, All the way to the Edge of Desire. Steady my breathing, silently screaming. I have to have you now, Wired and I'm tired. IThink i'll sleep in my clothes on teh floor, or mauybe this mattress will spin on its axis, and Find me on yours.

Don't say a word, just come over and lie here with me/'Cause I'm just about to set fire to everything I see/I want you so bad I'll go back on the things I believe/There I just said it, I'm scared you'll forget about me....

What happened to me?

As a true part of my character, I always feel like I should be evolving. Changing, morphing, advancing, call it what you may. But lately, I feel a lot less like myself than I used to. I'm doing something I love, in a place I enjoy, and my life is pretty much uncomplicated. But right now, I feel like a different version of myself. I used to have so much spunk, so much anger. I've changed in ways I didn't think I would and I've become something that on most days I'm happy with. Perhaps I'm holding on to my rebellious days a bit too much, but sometimes I just can't hack living in a world with bright colors and happy people 24/7. I've dealt with things people my age shouldn't have to. I've lost friends who were dear to me, both physically and emotionally. I lost the most inspiring person in my life and live just far enough away from home that it doesn't ache as much anymore. I've been emotionally disconnected from people I care about just to make things easier to cope with. I'm alienated. Perhaps that is why I connect so well with literature and why it speaks to me so much. I like the stories; I like hearing about other people's heartache since then it doesn't make mine feel so bad. I read to get away from what I'm going through, and learn to cope with what others describe.

For the rest of my life, I want to write.

That's something I can be sure of. I've written this blog on and off for years, but I always come back to it and it's the only medium I feel comfortable with lately. I used to write poetry. Like mad. I will never throw out the notebooks filled with verse because for a period of my life, that's all I felt like I had. I had my thoughts, and a notebook, and luckily a few very close friends that stuck by me.

Yes, for years I used to be dark and twisty inside. Black was the sole color in my wardrobe and the only thing that made me feel comfortable. I was aching and falling and slipping fast. Something happened at that point, and I turned into something else. The best way to deal with that, I guess, was to change. I've changed my image many times. Been back and forth between the me that seems right, and the me that's playing a role. I've gotten better at hiding the things that ail me. I've gotten better at fitting in. I've gotten better at covering up the dark and twisty. Perhaps that's the reason people always think I'm older than I am. Perhaps I look more weathered than people my own age, who carry innocence on their sleeves instead of heartache.

I'm trying to hold onto certain parts of the me that makes me feel most at home. The one where I'm in tune with how I feel and in tune with how I'm affected by things. I'm not the girl who wears only black anymore, though I miss that life. I am still the girl who paints her nails dark colors, and not just because it's in style. I feel most comfortable when I have my thoughts written down and when I've taken the time to realize how I really feel about something, and forget the rest of what's going on and am completely lost in the moment. When really, that moment is all about me. I have those moments so rarely anymore, and I used to live in those moments. Somehow, I need to have those moments back. I need to hang on to what used to be me, because that's where I feel the most comfortable. I kid myself when I laugh off people saying that I'm

"deep."

I, of course, think this is ridiculous because this is the way I've always been. I'm a pessimist, never the optimist. I've lived outside the box for many years. I'm the secret, silent type hidden in the corner. I cry when no one is around to see it. I keep a lot to myself, sometimes to my detriment.

I'm constantly morphing and changing, that I know for sure. There are things I can't let go of, things that I'm not very good with coping from. I have a chip on my shoulder, and mostly I spend a lot of time trying to cover that up. But what's so wrong with showing it? I still have to hang on to the part of me that made me who I am now. I can't always be the person that everyone else wants me to be, I have to be myself. I can't forget like all of those things didn't happen to me, and that certain parts of my life didn't exist. I can't let go of everything that once was in order to fit into the world I have now. I am who I am because of those things. I can't be me without all of those experiences.

No conformity; I have to be myself. That, I'm not willing to compromise.

Have to Write...

Some people have to speak, some people have to take a drive...I have to write. If I'm frustrated or need to sort things out, I need to run. If I have that itch where I'm feeling emotional, or I'm on the cusp of something, or that I just feel completely moved (an indescribable feeling, really), then I HAVE to write. Have to, like I won't be able to do anything else UNTIL I've written. That time is now.

It almost always happens when I've listened to the perfect song for the moment where I literally cannot move forward unless I've listened to the song over and over again, and over, over, over.... I'm sure my neighbors hate it, but this isn't about them. It's about me, a keyboard, and this blog. Or under other circumstances...me, a pen, and a notebook. Music brings it all together for me. The feeling is rarely there without it.

This song, this feeling...the feeling of having to write. THIS is where my life is. The most connected to myself I feel is when I'm doing just this. It's sad really that it doesn't happen more often, but the times when I've completely gotten into my head and there is no distraction...this is the core of life. It's the emotion of the chords, that feeling of the vibrations from the music on my chest, that moment when the music is transmitted into my body and literally flows through it. The spirit of the music floats through and runs through my veins more when I'm listening to it, or when I'm producing it. (The later happens on such a rare occasion, it's barely worth mentioning.)

It isn't merely the melody that's in the background either. It's that transcendent moment when the spoken/sung lyric word and the melodic performed chords/notes breed together to form that piece of music. That moment is the one that brings me to tears. It overcomes me with such a strong force, that once it begins, there is no stopping it from happening. I'm stuck in a moment where there is nothing else. It is timeless. It's the love of my life, the everything that makes that moment move on to the next, the thread that holds it all together.

Beyond that moment, when the music takes over, there is the coming down from that high moment when it all fits together, into something that is no longer about me in an empty space with the music, but about the everyday hours of life. Now everything moves forward and farther away from that moment where everything was together, everything had meaning, everything was...well, whole. It's lost and I'm swimming in the middle of the ocean looking for the shore. It's a dream that you wake up from, but so badly want to lucid dream back into existence. I'm running towards that transcendent moment-hoping, praying-that it will come back to me. It's so sporadic that I can only wish that the notes will guide me yet again.

Growing Up...(Read: Growth Rant)

Sometimes I feel like I'm getting old. Maybe experienced beyond my years is a better way to put it...yes, I'll roll with it. Technically, I'm a young person. No one ever thinks I'm in my early 20's. Almost everyone thinks I'm over 25. Usually, I take this as a good thing since I don't really look like I'm over 25, but I act like it. I've had a lot of growing up to do in my childhood, a lot of life experiences that have weathered me, so to say.

Today, I went out for a business lunch with some co-workers, which wasn't technically a working lunch, but it wasn't exactly "off the clock." With that said, there is a certain business etiquette that goes along with interacting with your co-workers-in any atmosphere. There are certain things that your co-workers don't need to know about you, your background, or about your social life. I don't need to know, and your boss certainly doesn't want to hear about the crazy weekend you had getting drunk with your friends, or even how you saw a really embarrassingly drunk person at a NASCAR race last weekend. Talking about your, or your friends, or even people you don't know that are drinking or drunk is NOT an appropriate work discussion-in the office or over lunch.

With that said, there is certain table etiquette that should be followed under all circumstances, almost completely without exception. (Obviously, there are certain exceptions that apply to these rules.) My biggest pet peeve of which is when people start to discuss things that may keep others from enjoying their meal. Specifically, it is inappropriate to discuss "smelly" things at the eating table. Sorry, but a discussion of how you used to clean cow barns or horse stalls is not exactly my idea of appetizing. This is certainly not something to brag about. Discussion of this topic should be used in appropriate situations only, and certainly NEVER over a meal.

I'm not sure why people my own age don't understand these simple concepts. When someone complements your shirt, you do not instantly say, "Thank you, it is from Store X!" It isn't necessary to tell someone that information, and I think it's rude. If someone comments and keeps discussing it, then sure, you could mention it given the right situation, but in conversation with someone you have never met before, or with someone who is just passing by, this is NOT necessary. (This is a SERIOUS pet peeve of mine.) For one thing, if it's really expensive (Or Brand Name), it looks like you're showing off because you have the money to be able to afford it. On the other hand, if you bought it at a cheaper store, even if readily available, it looks as if you are trying to "one up" someone by saying you found a better deal than they did, or that your tastes are better since you picked it out at a discount store. Not everyone needs to know that your top is from a name brand store! I would think that if you are in a business setting, even if on a business lunch, that people would find this sort of behavior inappropriate. I guess I give people too much credit sometimes.

Maybe I feel like I'm getting old because I sometimes feel like I'm around teenagers instead of young adults in their 20's, but there are certain things everyone should know in order to function in society-especially in a business setting. Act accordingly.