December 5th, I Think.

How did I cultivate a sense of wonder in my life in 2010.

I began to believe in magic, in the sheen of a secret side to every situation and every thing. Results - I paid attention to dandelions. I blew bubbles. I celebrated 10.10.10 at 10:10:10. I felt voices rather than heard them (Dave Matthews, David Gray, Marcus Mumford, Josh Ritter).

Wow...I didn't realize until now how much I really did try to cultivate this sense of wonder. Maybe not in those words, but that's what happened. I am a short-term type of person - what to do in the next few hours, what happened in the past day or two. Beyond that, memories and thoughts go to a place in my mind where they are laminated and, upon need of them or sudden remembrance, they are clear to me as the day it happened. But everything is not in my head at one time, or at least, not everything that's ever happened to me.

I know it's not uncommon but I liked realizing it. Self-knowledge was another thing I was working on this year, I think. And information, always more information - the inhaling of facts and ideas and skills and stories. There is always that.

It Doesn't Feel Like a Monday.

I stood out on a plateau last night with the snow shrieking around me, in "the palace of winds." I understood that phrase when I read it in The English Patient, but never as in that moment with the cold toothy wind sticking my back and blowing down into the valley.

I slid down the side of the hill and hunkered down in the brush, on my knees. I had wandered around searching for magical things all day, in the beginnings and the zenith of the snowstorm. I found it there, among the curves of the dormant vines, snowflakes slashing their way through the air above me. It wasn't magical so much as awesome, in the most majestic sense of that word.

I resolved not to waste the next snowstorm, after last winter's big one. So maybe I did, today, but tomorrow there is the promise of much frolicking and yesterday was majestic. Maybe now I shall go out to the Jewish cemetery and find the coupled silence of snow and the grave.

Reflections during Christmas break.

I like Christmas trees the best, and Christmas lights. And How the Grinch Stole Christmas...and Christmas cookies. This year, 2010, I think has been filled with more magic than any year of my life. I'm seeing it everywhere, helped along perhaps by all those icons and their depictions of small magical moments.

It's difficult to keep in mind the real reason of the season, as they say. My mind is more often on what to do next on day so-and-so of Christmas break, what present to put together next, all the cards I want to write to my peeps; or it's on the small happy moments that this break has been made up of. Compliments and little endearments that I didn't realize I wanted to hear so much until I heard them.

Starting to focus on living, really living: cleaning up my junk and washing dishes, making French toast and thinking on things in deeper levels. Not worrying so much about what I write, most of all what I write in my journal or on here, the places where I'm supposed to be letting loose, not holding on. So that's how it's going.

It came about after coming home Sunday, I think, and having a sort of nervous breakdown over insecurities and circumstances. I moped around for a few hours, then went to the movies along to see The Chronicles of Narnia. It wasn't fair to see it then, when I could barely focus on where to walk next, but maybe someday I'll have the chance to re-watch it.

It was nice though, being alone. I was inspired after The Fish sent me a poem-video called How To Be Alone. After she sent me that, I printed out the words and carried them around with me, thinking on them. It was so freeing, to walk and not worry about how to fill the silences and what to say next and if it was correct, if it was wise, if it fit the image I wanted that person to have of me.

Is that hypocritical? or theatrical? I can't decide.

I just was, Sunday afternoon. Theater 7 was nearly empty, and I sat in the middle with myself and an empty half-theater before me, crying at parts of the movie because of the colors or the clarity of the water, and not caring very much about anything except that moment.

Doesn't sound very Christian I suppose, but it was calming and I felt lighter walking out of AMC. I walked to Barnes&Noble, wandering the aisles a little bit before calling Papa to take me home. It's a good place to get lost, in the middle of a million captive worlds. I saw no one I knew. No one knew me. The only person I talked to was the cashier and the lady who wanted to take my 3D glasses at the end of the movie, but she doesn't count because I was spacing out as I usually do after the credits roll.

It always feels like a rebirth, walking out of a theater at the end of a movie. Darkness and projected images, followed by rapid blinking, disorientation, and the cleaning crew at the end of the tunnel. Haha.. weird. I like the feeling though. I don't go to the movies often but I like going alone best, I've decided. Watching a movie for the first time with people is awkward. I like the privateness of entering a story alone and letting it change me uninfluenced.

Well, that's how I am now. I've been thinking a lot about change, about growing old. The preciousness of time is a burden, and I hate thinking about all it implies. I may have found the college to attend; it's in Minneapolis. I have a great-aunt in Minneapolis. Her oldest son is a 40+ bachelor, a violinist and a music teacher. Their last name is Kot.

An old friend I ran into on Sunday told me about the college. It has what I like. It's not so, so far away. I like it.

The Moment I Felt Most Alive.

Getting into the shower, freezing water shooting out on me: I jerked and then accepted my fate. Getting out of the shower, the half-chilled air in the bathroom felt hot on my frosty skin. I felt the warmth of my flowing blood that moment.

That was probably the safest moment of feeling most alive this year, the one that comes to my memory first.

Prompt 2.

I suppose all I do is research of sorts, for my writing. It's like asking someone, what do you do each day that doesn't contribute to staying alive and how can you eliminate it. Perhaps that's where the Stoics found themselves; I am no Stoic. I love my meat and my music, my luxurious fabrics and hours spent daydreaming.

In all the actions of my day, I find myself thinking of how I would capture the moment in words. I hardly write anymore, but I think way too much for my good.

So, here's my answer: I would get around to the business of living and wrap this world of words and dreams securely around it. That's how I would eliminate all the things that don't have their end in words.

Growth.

2010 has been a year of change, certainly, but it has been more than that.

It's been a year of growth, positive growth. I've grown in myself, in friendships, in talents, and in understanding of the world, of my place in it, and my purpose on it.

That's it; it's so much more, but that's it.

For 2011, I hope the word will be hope. I want my life to be made of green skies and blue lights.

In Hope.

December 1 - One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you're choosing the word. Now, imagine it's one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

December 2 - Writing - what do you do each day that doesn't contribute to your writing - and can you eliminate it?

December 3 - Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (textures, smells, voices, noises, colors).

December 4 - Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

December 5 - Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?

December 6 - Make. What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?

December 7 - Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise , in 2010? What community would you like to join, create, or more deeply connect with in 2011?

December 8 - Beautifully Different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different - you'll find they're what makes you beautiful.

December 9 - Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.

Winter Winds

I'm soaking in The English Patient, by Michael Ondaatje, currently. It has been a long, long while since I've been so absorbed in a book - the last time was Keturah and Lord Death, I think. Ondaatje's sentences are weighty with meaning and poetry. I feel that if I could read this book for all my life, I would still gather some kind of new image, a new understanding.

Today a guy from my childhood asked me, again, a question pertaining to my age. What to think, I wonder.

Papa bought a new camera and it takes beautiful pictures. My brother and I walked out to the woods behind our apartments where there is a gathering of wheat, always swaying now that winter is forcing its full breath upon us. We've been going there just as the sun is making its slow way down to sleep, shimmering out above the rocking heads apocalyptically. It's hard to catch them in their swaying, but the new camera does it. I have yet to name it; it's chunky. Perhaps Marcus.

Last night we watched a movie called Joyeux Noelle, and there was a German officer whose name I can't remember.. talking to my sister later, I told her I would have married him immediately if it was possible. I told her we would have met in front of a coffee shop; he would have made a comment and I would have laughed and he would have asked me if I would like some coffee. We would meet a year later, overseas, and would fall in love; be married in France, honeymoon in Belgium and Austria, settle down in Denmark, perhaps Sweden; our son would run with him every morning in the misty hills, dew forming on their collarbones as they ran.

My sister said, Wow - you just told me your whole life story! And I mumbled, Not at all.

If that is all a life is, then how sad. Life is so full: a fig with countless little seeds juicing up and out with every bite, millions more in each fibrous crevice. A pomegranet both sweet and rich and bitter; a cup of bergamot tea. Food-related analogies are always the best ones.

As the winter winds litter London with lonely hearts

Oh the warmth in your eyes swept me into your arms

Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?

For every kiss your beauty trumped my doubt

And my head told my heart

"Let love grow"

But my heart told my head,

"This time no,

This time no."

We'll be washed and buried one day my girl

And the time we were given will be left for the world

The flesh that lived and loved will be eaten by plague

So let the memories be good for those that stay

And my head told my heart,

"Let love grow"

But my heart told my head,

"This time no";

Yes my heart told my head,

"This time no,

This time no."

Oh the shame that sent me off from the God that I once loved

Was the same that sent me into your arms

Oh and pestilence is won when you are lost and I am gone

And no hope, no hope will overcome

And if your strife strikes at your sleep

Remember spring swaps snow for leaves

You'll be happy and wholesome again

When the city clears and the sun ascends

My head told my heart,

"Let love grow,"

But my heart told my head,

"This time no -

This time no."

Coming Down

Tears falling slow

From the bridge

Into the river below

In your eyes, I start to see

A starry veil,

The ocean of infinity

Moon and stars above me

Mingle with the blood

Inside my vein

These empty arms that should be

Holding you close

Through nights of winter rain

I'm trying to spell

What only the wind can explain

It's colder than ever

Coming down

I'm drowning in shallows

Cause it's in so deep

There's neon melting in the rain

Took too much powder to sleep

Cause when I hold you naked

When I see you laugh

I got a sword to stem the rivers

And cut the moon in half

Frozen stars above me

Mingle with the blood

Inside my vein

Empty arms that should be

Holding you close

Through nights of winter rain

I'm trying to spell

What only the wind can explain

It's colder than ever

Coming down

We danced wild

Kicked off our shoes

Not a cloud

In the skies to confuse

Now the sky is cold

The sea is wide

And there's nothing to be done

'Cept reflecting the sun

And scratching the mountainside

Frozen stars above me

Mingle with the blood

Inside my vein

Empty arms that should be

Holding you close

Through nights of winter rain

I'm trying to spell

What only the wind can explain

It's colder than ever

Coming down

The best songs are the ones that can double as poems. David Gray, Josh Ritter, Dave Matthews...Mumford&Sons, The Avett Brothers. Partly an explanation of why my heart is in anguish and ecstasy over their music; partly an outlet of a rumination I had ten minutes ago.

We all want to avoid becoming a statistic; we want to shine during our lifetimes, but there is a statistic to fit everyone. It's possibly why I hate mathematics so much, it's uncurved, unfeeling nature. There is no magic in math - only formulas; and while magic requires formulas, it also requires soul.

Statistics have no soul.

Odd

Feeling good.

1. I've maybe broken my thumb. Finally.

3. I'm doing things that I set out to do.

5. I'm painting again.

1: I've never broken anything and I kind of looked forward to it with a fascinated dread. Now there is a clothespin splint on my thumb, and it hurts but not unbearably, and I really hope I'm not masochistic.

3: Working on presents for birthdays and Christmas, cleaning up my room, reading things I've been planning to for years. Watching The English Patient and nearly dying from the greatness that is Count Almasy.

5: Last night and this morning I finished a girl with green skin and miscellaneous things in her hair.

I never understood "Monday Mornings" until today.

Oh geez. Sometimes I hate having a family, hate the understanding needed for all interaction with them. Living on my own would simplify things, I think, relationally. What is it - absence makes the heart grow fonder? It does; it certainly does.

Angels Will Follow Me.

I'm learning not to sweat as much. I didn't sweat too much before, but last night (during one of the worst headaches of my life) I had a lot of time to think while waiting for the pills to kick in, and in one moment, it was like I stepped off the edge of the cliff where my pursuers had hounded me to, and instead of hitting the ground immediately, I'm still falling - and falling is just another version of flying.

Perhaps ignoring the looming earth is delusional, but it is also like this song by Lissie, "Everywhere I Go."

A Post Praising Rabbit Song by Boy & Bear

This is a post solely for praising Rabbit Song by Boy & Bear.

Thistles and Weeds.

3:45 in the morning, and I am finally done all the stuff I have to send away to Pensacola. Now I am listening to Mumford&Sons, their songs that I haven't heard before. If I could marry them all, I would. I would marry the piano/accordion player for his high voice. I would marry the lead singer for his emotion and for his nose. I would marry the big cello (or whatever it is) player for his thick hair and for his eyes. I would marry the banjo player for his banjo playing and for his beautiful face.

I need their music. It tinges my dreams and I'm always humming lines and choruses. Tomorrow I can sleep and write seriously. I'm planning on taking a walk with my notebook and pens and iPod, maybe, and finding someplace to sit and write. Perhaps I'll hit 20,000 words.

Unsentimental.

So. Five thousand, one hundred and twenty five words; I should be at eight thousand - something. It is a sad deficiency which I will probably stay awake trying to lessen. Luckily I have music and a tin full of loose black tea leaves, not to mention the fortification of a midday nap I took which threw the balance of my day off, as those things usually do.

The bright side is the dentists get better and better every time I go to the dentist's office.. first Dr. Sean, then Dr. Carlos, and now Dr. Black Man with a Sense of Humor. Ah, good times. Good times. Never did I think I would say that after a visit to the dentist, but there you go. Also I played some old arcade games... Jungle Man, Mrs. Pacman, Bentley Bear, Pacman Theatre. Again: good times.

Locked in a Room.

I need to write today; add the 400 words I didn't finish yesterday, and I must push out over 2000 words today. But I couldn't. Or - I should have, because maybe that would have alleviated some of the haze, but here:

Oh God, I can't even write it. I gathered my courage last night and wrote it in my real journal, but I can't even think about it now without wanting to puke my guts out. The moral of this story is "Irene needs to stay away from falling in love and being disappointed to the point of illness." The truth is, "Irene can't imagine living a life without falling in love."

Curse my eternal optimism, my brain's trick of covering bad memories, and the always-looking-ahead mentality that hovers over my soul. Wouldn't you know - it's not even such a bad thing, in terms of how bad things can get. Just a slap to the face is all.

And during small group, I wanted to talk to someone about something, but to who and about what completely flew out of my head. WHY. Well, there are two things. Last night and also this weird thing that's been happening for a long long time now. When someone knows what someone's going to say - completely unconnected, previously unmentioned things - what is that person supposed to think? What about if it happens consistently? Often, even? What then.

I've always had a knack for finishing people's sentences but never to this point, and I don't want to say anything to anyone but keeping it locked inside my mind is driving me crazy. Speaking of which, Oren Lavie has a beautiful, haunting voice.

why do we want to be SOmeTHINg more?

Gradually my fingers are curving into the piano positions. I begin to see the paths of the songs over the keys, and begin to understand the relationships between notes and syncopation and rhythm. Harmony. Transposition. EGBDF, FACE; GBDFA, ACEG. And the rest. And more. It's dizzying, and I find myself loving music more and more.

I and Love and You - The Avett Brothers

You're the One - Paul Simon

Blame It on the Rain - He is We

Soft Summer Girls - Barzin

Jique - Brazilian Girls

In the meantime. I worked today, a little, and earned $30. I have plans for them.

When I was younger, I refused to even look at music dealing with love - even secular music. Now it nothing. Now I am older, and know more things, and understand more things (but I'm just a taller child). It's raining and soon I am leaving for small group.

Lists.

Somewhere Only We Know - Keane

Wondering Where the Lions Are - Bruce Cockburn

Caravan of Love - Housemartins

Road Regrets - Dan Mangan

I Turn My Camera On - Spoon

Gravity's Rainbow - Klaxons

I wish I knew what to do, or how to feel. One or the other. There are a few piles of thoughts in my head, because that's all the organizing I can do at this point:

1. The pile of what I know

2. The pile of what I am not confused about

3. The pile of what I have no idea what to do with

The summation of my mind. I have to go.

I Don't Feel the Same.

I have begun.. one third of today's goal completed, and it is flowing very smoothly (as it should- I've been thinking on this story for two months. It's such a relief to be able to finally write it). I am not telling anyone what it is, though. I doubt I ever will.

It's not autobiographical, but it's close enough that it makes me uncomfortable. But here's how it is:

This is Alice's story. It hit me, and I felt like I knew all about her. To refuse to write this down just because I understand where she is coming and going would be wrong. I would be denying something vital, and thanks to an in-your-face post by a write I read recently, I am doing more.

I'm painting, I'm writing, I'm singing. I'm learning how to live.

I'm working on my Manifesto.

Everybody's Changing - Keane

Blue Eyes - Timmy Curan

Love, Love, Love - Tristan Prettyman

Reasons to Love You - Meiko

Rain - Priscilla Ahn

Hurricane Drunk.

I love my family, both of them. Last night my youth group had an all-nighter, and all my siblings except the baby were there. How awesome it was; I didn't think it was possible to have so much fun packed into one night. So many memories and laughs; almost everything my mother or father mention brings a memory and a laugh to me.

I have so much to say, but my brain is operating on four hours of sleep. So.

Prodigal Son's Prayer

I'm taking small steps:

F. cleaning up my room.

R. writing out my lesson plan for the past three weeks (in other words, making a procrastination right).

M. practicing piano instead of putting it off.

Now to actually get working towards scholarly pursuits.

A friend asked me tonight what I'm doing for college. Ah, I wish I could say. I wish I could say, actually, that I'm not afraid of utter failure; that I'm not afraid of success because failure must surely be down the road. Is this my obstacle now, I wonder: fear?

Regardless. I am moving forward; I am taking small steps. So maybe I'll fail. I won't compromise, though. Maybe I'll be rejected time and again; I won't stop, though. I watched a movie last week called One Week, and it taught me things.

Ben, the main character, wrote a book. He tried to get it published but it was rejected multiple times. Ben gives up just around the time Houghton Mifflin hires a new man who's looking for exactly the type of book Ben wrote...if only he hadn't quit. If only he had tried once more.

So maybe I've failed; maybe I've put it off for too long, long enough that cramming won't get me anywhere. I'm going to try, though. I'm going to give it all I have. I'm going to stop the music that has engulfed me; this music of complacency and soft convictions; I'm going to pump up the drums and bass and march toward tomorrow. Then I'm going to turn it louder and keep marching, until the day after tomorrow; and the day after that; and the day after that.

Jesus. I'm here. Thanks for waiting for me.

Father meet me with Your arms wide open
The world's done broken Your prodigal son
Down this road I traveled
Everything raveled only came undone

Father lead me down to the river
Wash me in the water till I'm whiter than snow
I know I'm not worthy
But tell me there's mercy for the wandering soul

I lost my way but now I'm on my knees
If it's not too late won't You tell me please
You gotta place for me
A little grace for me

Father meet me in Your cool green valley
In all of Your glory when my days are done
Name me as one of Your chosen
Heaven's unbroken prodigal son

Father meet me with Your arms wide open
Lead me down to the river
Meet me in the cool green valley

Name me as one of Your chosen
Heaven's unbroken prodigal son.

Because I'm Mental, Be Gentle with Me.

There is an explosion building up in my mind.. Every thought is followed by a thousand more, and strings of lights and garlands of heart float around, followed by that throng of paper cranes and origami stars. I want to do so much. I want to throw paint around and hot-glue fake jewels to my headboard, draw swirls around the frame of my window, sew some curtains, sprinkle sparkles all over my carpet, and string a million things from my ceiling.

I want to design a dress, cut out some yellow fabric and acquire some lace, and go wild. I want to find some flowers and learn how to make a crown out of them, and wear them to church, along with some ridiculously high heels.

All right. I dream too much when I should be sleeping. I sleep too much when I should be working. I work too much when I should be learning. I learn too much when I shouldn't be procrastinating.

Ah, but I know that I do many things right, too. That's the thing: this is not depression. It's self-awareness. It's tossing my mind into a world of color as well as shadow. It feels like I'm going crazy sometimes, but oh how beautiful insanity is.

A Reflective Rant.

Isn't this crazy? This north-and-south indecision of the needle? How one night we want to kiss every inch of earth for all our happiness, and the next night we want to cry and scream at every inch of space for all the thoughts pouring through our hearts?

I'll Believe in Anything - Wolf Parade

Junebug - Robert Francis

Tighten Up - The Black Keys

Hide & Seek - Imogen Heap

And, you know, one day I feel somewhat certain of my path, of who I am. Today I am sure; today I am unsure. There are many tentacles coming out from my fingers, and I feel like a daughter of Anak, ungainly and wild.

The sons of Anak were giants in the land, men of six fingers and toes. They terrified the children of Israel until Caleb, one of the two faithful spies sent to scout out the Promised Land, offered his daughter Acsah (name meaning "Anklet") as a prize to the man who would take Hebron, the city of the sons of Anak. Othniel (name meaning "Lion of God"), nephew of Caleb, won the city and the girl. Acsah later asked her father for upper and lower springs of water; Othniel became a judge of Israel, taking them back from their captivity under the king of Mesopotamia and bringing about a peace that lasted forty years.

I wonder what all this means. Why is it there? Why include Acsah's request for the springs of water?

But I digress. The daughters of Anak (I am sure there must have been some) are never mentioned. I'm not surprised; I would be surprised if they were. They most likely weren't pretty enough to attract a man, and the only thing they would be noted for would be their height, I suppose. Or their 24 fingers and toes. Maybe they'd be expected to go chop some wood in addition to mashing the millet for dinner. I don't know.

They were girls, though. We haven't changed much. We still want love; we still want someone to value us, to visit us, to talk to us. I wish I would remember this when I'm talking to my people. I wish I would always say the right thing. I wish I could be edgy and unoffensive at the same time. I wish I had the patience to fold a thousand paper cranes so that I could earn one wish come true. I wish I knew how to fold a paper crane.

I wish I deserved some of the compliments and opinions people give me, regarding my gifts. When I know so many others who draw much, much better than me, why do they focus on me? I hate it. It feels unfair, and it burdens me, even as it gives me heaps of joy.

Ah, a ranting post. I haven't done one of these in a while. Was it fear that held me back?

I finished another journal last night. It's become almost an obsession for me, journaling. Every day, tangibly remembered, stuck to pages and ink for as long as the paper holds out. I have tried very hard to be honest, to not just write to remember but write to reflect, to learn, and to grow. I didn't want to write just to find therapy in drawing the pen up and down, back and forth. I wanted to be able to look back and remember the moment with all my senses and all my emotions.

I wanted to remember the curtains in the corner, the fake ghost hanging outside the window, the dim lights, the Kylie-like quietness of the person next to me, the tiny lines of dirt hiding underneath the fingernails, and the accepting, round eyes looking straight into my own. Were they blue? They may have been black. It's so hard to tell, even in person, let alone in memory.

Since the middle of January, I have diligently kept journals. I filled one as May began. I filled another one as August ended. I started one at FUEL, hated the cluttered designs of its pages, and deserted it in favor of a very old leather one that I began in 2007 and just finished last night.

On the last page I copied down the lyrics to After the Storm by Mumford & Sons. Hopeful enough to not be depressing; thoughtful enough to make me cry. That's how I have ended all my journals, so far: with some kind of song or poem.

White Blank Page - Mumford & Sons

The Only Exception - Paramore

Transatlanticism - Death Cab for Cutie

Just Breathe - Pearl Jam

It's funny - most of the time, the moments I want to happen are much less pleasant than they seem in my head. The moments that are unplanned and go-with-the-flow-y are the ones that stick, the ones that keep me secure and warm. It's been a year of those moments, and I'm glad I won't lose it to memory.

A Little List

There are three things in life worth living for, not taking into account the spiritual side of things.

1. Friendship.

2. Hope.

3. Sunshine and trees.

Imperfections.

What to say: as the day passes, yesterday fades surely and firmly into memory. All the words and thoughts I could have said are all folded into that memory, and it takes some sweat to peel the layers back and find them again.

I have met my sweat quota for the week.

I watched One Week, an indie movie that struck me as perfect. (Many things have been doing that lately.) It was slow-paced and reflective, calm and questioning, full of quotations and scenery and the main character's introspection. It fit, yesterday, and if I watched it today, it would probably fit again. I'm often in the mood for reflection these days; I'm often in the mood for questioning and sitting back, eyes closed and head open, reaching out and finding answers or perhaps more questions.

It's the rain, I think, that does this to me. Me and my old bones.

And..

So: it is accomplished. I did everything I set out to do, Sunday night. It gave me good thoughts and feelings.

So: much more new music. I found a music blog that is just my taste, and also the deviantArters are proving to be a good source of great music, thanks to the necessity of titles for their deviations and the lack of creativity in that area, on average.

So: I have a lot of ideas about things to do for my room...like cotton ball clouds, and satin walls. Perhaps a silhouette portrait in an antique glass frame, or something equally charming and homemade.

So: it's an old day, at this point, and it has been full. My icon supply is replenished and I am coming to terms with myself and the world. I might pierce the back of my neck; perhaps the back of my tongue. I am still unsure, but I so, so want a tattoo. It doesn't matter anymore, the repercussions of old age.

In Celebration.

In a few minutes, it will be 10:10:10 on 10.10.10. I plan to celebrate somehow; I haven't made up my mind yet how exactly I'll do it, but I have about 20 minutes.

It's been a good day. We walked through a field full of grass and weeds as high as our waists, and I read a book of photography that blew me away. I watched The Corpse Bride and loved it for many, many reasons.

The diet's working; green is a good color on me; I read in a book on Faerie that fairies have always favored green; the crescent moon came out tonight; there is nothing like approval to satisfy the heart; I love my state of singleness and all its possibilities, all its potential, and all its freedom;

The semi-colon is a useful little chap, as Abraham Lincoln said.

I now have about ten minutes to determine my mode of celebration.

Today I felt happy; today I remembered that "this too shall pass."

I think I've figured it out; how to celebrate, I mean. I'm going to draw a butterfly. I'm going to write a poem and not think, not censor, not second-guess myself at all; then I am going to brew myself a pot - not a cup - a pot of tea, take one cookie, and go outside, look at the moon, and think and think and think until my parents yell at me to come inside.

I'm going to put on a dress and heels and put a bow in my hair.

Goodnight. I go now to prepare.

Indulge Me.

Today is National Music Appreciation Day (or something), and I have been appreciating music very much. I've also been appreciating typewriters and journals and light and trees and this Indian summer weather and the hippie style of dress and tea and perfectly roasted chicken and learning how to love and learning about the Constitution and reading, reading, reading.

I've been wondering whether my poems, the ones I struggle over and second-guess, are any good. They've stopped rhyming conventionally (I've thrown in much more internal rhyme and rhythm), and I suppose they've grown as I have. Maybe people aren't ready for them. Maybe I delude myself. I wanted to say "regardless," but it's not... I care very much if my work is quality or not. It matters to me what my poems make you feel. The images you see as you read are incredibly important to me.

But there is very little feedback. I wish I had more of it, good or bad, just so I could know what I'm doing wrong, or right, or what.

I wrote this one about a week ago and it garnered more response on dA than any other piece I've done.

Indulge Me.

If I write about important things,
and the world is thrown
into a circle of unrest, a valley of death;

If I write and they crown me queen
march out from underneath me in droves
(black and yellow, red and white,
all are precious in my sight) and my ideas
are cheered like new green things
growing from black moss, and I’m so boss
I’m crazy but they love love love me;

If I write out a grand new scheme that
came to me in the swirly cream of my cappuccino,
and the new National Capital is the
corner Starbucks, and the guerillas in their
jungles turn their guns into fruit juice;

If I write a word that tosses the content
of the cabinet like a controversial salad
all the animals in the zoo run wild through
the swampy narrows then
the alleyways reverse from the dank;

If I write with a prowess
so that upheaval follows
the stress of political correctness;

Life, Sweet Life.

David Gray sings a song called Nemesis:

I am the thoughts you are too ashamed to share..

I have some of those. They're all I've been thinking about, all last night and almost all day. They linger in my mind and catch my tongue like burrs. They fill my throat with puffs of cotton, my chest with crowds of heartbeats.

But I'm good now. Menial tasks such as washing dishes are strangely effective at washing away things like thoughts and musings other than music and bubbles. I'm glad for it: I've missed that innocence.

Now I can swing my feet, and listen to music and love it for its melodies and not its message (you may know of my penchant for sad or wistful songs), and look at art and love its beauty instead of nearly-weep over the emotions it stirs.

And that is this day: a blustery, autumn-y sort of day in which I met a Top Chef, was confused by my own circles of thoughts, talked a little bit, played a little bit, walked a little bit. A day in which I lived.

From What I Once Was.

Today I saw a biker man in a blue shirt and squarish sunglasses. He was tall and blonde and just enough of chunky to make him solid; he held his wife's hand and dropped some money casually into the donation bucket of some teenager. My theory remains: all the good guys are either gay, taken, or ninety.

Today I want to have the excuse of insomnia, instead of just being too awake to sleep. I want to go into my room and find a bed that alone in the room, alone with its lavender sheets and Dutch-trimmed pillows. A room that's whitewashed with little pastels colors all over it: baby blue sheer curtains filtering moonlight, a soft yellow rug on the floor, pink flowers and hearts strewn across the walls.

Today I lived an entire day, mostly, outside, but it's so hard to remember easily. I remember the soft sunshine in the morning, and the grand comforts to be found inside the hood of my 80's-inspired hoodie, and joking around with the Vanilla Gorilla, and those beautiful old glossy cars, and the extreme loveliness of the layers of my hair. Have I begun to think in icons, I wonder. I have some new ones.

Would you settle for a wasted life?

We can't always belong to a place in time.

Come along for the ride, let them take you inside -

No one wants to wait anymore;

Come along for the ride, let them take you inside.

And all my thoughts wrapped up in neverending white lights

and celestial beings parting ways with me;

I'm losing faith in life.

Too afraid tonight to lie awake

And in my thoughts there are ways of getting lost.

Eugh

No earth-shaking thoughts; just how much I hate my lazy tendencies. They're beyond lazy..they're the feeling of chained-to-unproductivity even when I know the consequences all too well.

What to do? What to do? Stupid Adobe Flash Player needs to be upgraded to listen to music, and I can't do that on this account; I woke up at 12:30; school is sinking faster and faster.

I want to smash something.

by The Eels.

Do you know what it's like to fall on the floor

And cry your guts out 'til you got no more

Hey man now you're really living

Have you ever made love to a beautiful girl

Made you feel like it's not such a bad world

Hey man now you're really living

Now you're really giving everything

And you're really getting all you gave

Now you're really living what

This life is all about

Well I just saw the sun rise over the hill

Never used to give me much of a thrill

But hey man now you're really living

Do you know what it's like to care too much

'Bout someone that you're never gonna get to touch

Hey man now you're really living

Have you ever sat down in the fresh cut grass

And thought about the moment and when it will pass

Hey man now you're really living

General Revelations.

Getting things done this afternoon, mainly projects and compositions, writing a poem or two, watching the construction men walk back and forth on the roofs and bulldozers...things like that. The hope of making it to the library for an hour or two is before me, and the joy of friendships and a good family is upon me.

It's been a good day.

This morning's fog cleared up to reveal a gorgeously light sky and soft sunlight; summer is still clinging to the leaves. I braided some yellow, orange, and black yarn. I'm going to hot-glue it onto a leaf and hang it from my ceiling. Then I'm going to braid some more, and repeat it until all I see above me are falling leaves.

Small post upon small post, and soon autumn will be gone. A few friends will grow a year older, and then it will be my turn: eighteen. I would love to rent my youth group building and invite everyone I know, but I also understand the limits of finances. But I still would love to do that. That's the only thing I hate about having my birthday during winter: the park for a place of entertainment is out.

It's good, though. God is good, throughout it all.
And in spite of it all, this is a life that I am thoroughly enjoying. I really do feel like royalty today, what with the world being so full of a number of things.

Is it late in the morning or an early afternoon?
I'm online right now, looking back through deviantArt stuff, reading the words of people all across the world, and feeling so much.

Feeling the deep strength of tea warming me on this grey September morning, feeling my head try to push past its skeletal boundaries, feeling the loose comfort of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt (I haven't worn loose clothes in a long, long time, and I forgot how comfort feels, I think). Feeling the pain pouring out in stories of step-dads and friends and lovers and dreams from people I'll never meet but know. Reading a story on pain one moment, looking at a picture of beauty the next.. it's heady.

It's time to go be productive.

I'll Stand.

For the weeks following FUEL, I felt like I was training for something: all the books on the Bravehearted Gospel, devotions, worship, prayer - it was leading up to something.

Now I know that I am in training every day, for the battle that will last my lifetime. It's a battle against principalities and powers, and the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places; it is a battle that is waged every day, and I am being moved closer to it.

After yesterday morning's effort, I was ready to try again this morning - we all were. And we all overslept. And my mother dreamed a dream that caused her to pray over every one of her children individually, and as she prayed over me, she saw the jaws of the lion from her dream.

Am I trouble? Is the devil getting nervous?

Good. Good. Bring it on, puppy dog. God is with me - who can be against me? I can stare the whole world in the face, my flesh included, and withstand whatever it throws at me.

Ephesians 6: taking upon myself the whole armor of God, so that I may be able to withstand in the evil, stand against the wiles of the devil.

Well, today was a day that dragged me down. My hair didn't feel right: greasy after washing it just a few hours before. My dreams distracted me, and I couldn't forget them. My school was a whole other battle.

But today, I read the Word. I prayed. I sang. I failed in some things, succeeded in others - but this day is over soon, and tomorrow is a new one. Tomorrow I'll try again, and I'll keep training, and keep fighting.

It's a roller-coaster, a life lived with God, but it's exhilarating.

The Spirit Is Willing But the Flesh Is Weak.

So. I overslept. It reminds me of a Bible verse. Now, I am a little disappointed, but I think I learned something.

It's good, that I can learn something from all seasons of life.

At any rate, tonight is youth group, tomorrow is small group, and I have my music, my penmanship, and I still have my God. I see Him still, in everything that happens and doesn't happen. My sister and I had a chance to speak to some children later in the morning, and I think I'm getting sick (finally, after hovering on the edge of it for a month).

Or maybe I'll just keep hovering.

Going Big; Feeling Small.

Tomorrow is the morning that I've been praying about and half-dreading, half-anticipating for the past two weeks. Tomorrow morning, I will leap out beyond anything I would normally do and trust my landing to the Lord.

Even as I plan and pray to go big, I feel so small.

What will I say; what will they think; why do I care what they think; I do care what they think; why am I doing this; God, I hope You are pleased; everything that my new nature does is pleasing to You - I have to remember that; help me wake up early enough; don't let me fall back in cowardice; I'm so scared; I'm so excited.

And I've never felt so alive, and so dead.

Well, God, this is me. Right here: ready to do something, trying hard - no. Training to be more like You. This is where I've failed (again), in this training department. I haven't talked to You seriously in a few days, ditto regarding reading Your Words. Actually, I've been falling back into my old ways slowly and surely.

But not again; never again. Please God, I need to feel Your hand as I go outside tomorrow, clean and trembling in the piercing morning sun. Let me return home triumphant - or at least more confident in Your presence. Give me the words and the actions to reach the ones who have been moving around me for years. Please, God! I am so insufficient. I am so insecure, continually fumbling for some kind of solid ground that I can see.

It's not about seeing, though, is it? It's about the evidence of things hoped for, and the substance of things unseen. I hope that, regardless of the opinions of others and of myself, that Your love is poured out tomorrow morning and every morning and every day following that day, until it touches everyone in this community. I don't see it yet, but the substance of it is here in my heart, and in this small vision that I feel bubbling in my belly.

God, finish my faith! You have begun a good work in me, and I pray that You would continue it for Your glory. Ah, Lord. Make me bold. Don't let me tremble in the face of opposition or ridicule. I care not! It is Your pleasure and Your will alone that goads me on, that gives me the grace day to day to continue breathing and sinning and falling and rising and being imperfect but striving towards perfection as long as I live.

If You told me to do this, then I can bear it. You give me as much as I can bear, and I believe that everywhere I go, You are there with me.

I'm...
scared and a little weak, but sure in the hope that is the glory of God, and confident of His resurrection power working in me. If I have nothing else, I always am secure in the center of His hand, and there all the riches of heaven and earth reside.

He cares for the sparrows and clothes the flowers... will He not incline His eyes towards me and my concerns? And, even with those concerns - He tells me to cast them upon Him, for He cares for me.

Blessed assurance! Jesus is mine.
Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!
Angels descending bring from above
Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.

This is my story; this is my song -
Praising my Savior all the day long!
This is my story; this is my song -
Praising my Savior all the day long.

Smaller and Smaller and Smaller.

A small icon post. I've taken to printing them out and taping them into my journal...I've printed out hundreds. I like small pictures and pictures of small things.

I'm Feeling Like a Child.

Driving through the city today on our way to the zoo, I was captivated by the pulse of small city moments: a grill leaning out on a second-story ledge, curtains upon curtains of ivy, a young guy pedaling alongside the cars, pretty protective bars criss-crossing windows lining the streets.

And the zoo, too, captivated me. All the mammals and reptiles and birds, so diverse and so beautiful, all in cages. It made me happy and sad; happy to see them so closely, sad to see them locked up.

There was a Lorikeet Experience thinger, where they let you into the huge cage with dozens of these birds flying around you. You hold out your hand, cupped around a small cup of nectar, and let the lorikeets fly onto your arm and drink.

A red-and-black-and-orange one flew onto my arm and stayed there for a good three minutes, licking not the cup but my hand; all over it, into the palm and around the fingers. The trainers laughed awkwardly and said that it liked me (they didn't look like they knew for sure). Whatever. I wish I could have taken that one home.

Ah, so childish. I haven't been to the zoo in years. YEARS. Maybe it's a good thing: the animals are so beautiful, but their eyes are so dead. (But it's not like the free animal's eyes are any different.) I suppose I'm a sucker for freedom, for the wild.

I didn't realize I loved animals so much until today. Seeing the curls of the flamingo's neck, the striped awkwardness of the okapi, the disgusting way Galapagos tortoises crush watermelon with their tongue, the silent paths worked through tanks of water by another fleshy turtle, the sleek black scales of that African viper, the silliness of the peacocks, the quirky pawing of the Egyptian plover, the shimmering rainbow-hued feathers of that small starling... it made an impression.

Even the giraffes, who I had loved but not nearly as much as today when I saw the baby giraffe wobble as it struggled to sit down.

Especially the birds, though. That was my absolute favorite part: walking into this gorgeous silver building, walking so close to these birds that I could touch them if I chose - a few even walked right next to us on the path! It awed me to the center of my heart.

Papa said we'll go back sometime this year, to finish walking through the rest of the zoo. I'm glad; I'm so glad. I'm so glad God made such a wide, wide world full of such wonderful creatures.

Did you know the Bible mentions unicorns? It does.

Why does this give me great hope?

Waiting for the Storm.

Mumford & Sons: a band after my heart. Grand strings, banjos, and desperate, earthy vocals. I believe, in their musical repertoire, I have found a song that is closer to my heart than any other.

I sometimes debate letting everyone I know know about this journal. Would they think differently of me. Would I write differently. Would I delete everything personal.

Today I talked to a middle-school girl named Brianna. She lives in my apartments; I've known her for a while, and today I invited her to the Edge - straight out, when she answered "7th grade," to my question of what grade she was in now. Then we talked about stuff. She is one of those who give me hope for this generation.

Today I ate black licorice for the first time in years. Last time I tried it, I absolutely hated it, but I savored it today. The strange aftertaste is still there, but my taste buds embraced it joyously. Ah, speaking of taste buds, mine received a revelation yesterday in the form of marinated artichoke from Giant's olive bar. We bought bruschetta, feta cheese, and a couple artichokes, piled them onto some crusty bread at home, and feasted.

I have realized that the things necessary to life can be the most enjoyable.
Eating.
Breathing.
Drinking.
Loving.

That's what I've learned.

And after the storm
I run and run as the rains come
On my knees and out of luck,
I look up.

Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won't rot, I won't rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won't rot.

And I took you by the hand
And we stood tall,
And remembered our own land,
What we stood for.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

And now I cling to what I knew
I saw exactly what was true
But oh no more.
That's why I hold,
That's why I hold with all I have,
That's why I hold.

I won't die alone and be left there.
Well I guess I'll just go home,
Oh God knows where.
Because death is just so full and man so small.
Well I'm scared of what's behind and what's before.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your tears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your tears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

Heart It Races

NaNoWriMo is rapidly approaching (but not quickly enough). The idea for my story came to me about a week ago, and it has gripped me strongly, very strongly. After a few days of brainstorming, I've begun to outline and plan the more concrete details.

It's hard, harder than I thought it would be, keeping the characters themselves and not lending them pieces of my personality. I can't tell anyone about the story; last year I did that, and it took so much of the satisfaction and, honestly, all the fun out of keeping the secret.

Writers have the luxury of social allowances such as occasionally craziness and eccentricities; I intend to put all those allowances to full use, come November. Perhaps even now, with the research I'm planning...

I feel like a crafty planner of devious schemes.

See-Saws.

The water heater's broken, and I've been taking freezing showers the past two days. I love it. It freaks me out when I first feel the frigid drops, and for the next five minutes I skip back and forth like a goat...but then I am cooled down enough to enjoy fifteen minutes or more in icy awesomeness.

I couldn't believe how amazingly warm the air wafting throughout our house is after a cold shower. Putting on sweaters and jeans is like donning the threads that hold up heaven; every sensation is more alive and connected, more than anything I've ever felt.

And today, to top off everything, has been a perfectly grey autumn day. I woke up early and walked to the bus stop. I missed the high schoolers but a couple middle school kids were standing around. We talked a little bit; there was so much more I could have said, looking back, but that's how it goes. Tomorrow is another day, another chance. And then, next week...

Old music has been coming back to me; old playlists and lyrics float past my head. I feel like I'm rediscovering pieces of myself... re-reading old diaries and journals, going through old papers and stories. Borscht and true Ukrainian food in honor of my parents' 20th anniversary yesterday: all of these conspire to tug me back to my roots.

I like them. They're greener than I remember. Things come back into perspective after teetering dangerously over the chasm of things I thought I had overcome.

Thanks, God. You keep reminders before me, and all I have to do is open my eyes, my heart. Perhaps that is the hardest part: complete surrender of everything I hold dear and held dear. All in all, it is a greater thing I am gaining that surrendering. Also I thank you for pleasant words and phrases. Autumn makes me more hazy than usual, and it's hard to focus when such lovely things are happening outside, but everything is good.
Real, real good.

And So It Goes.

Papa took us to the library for the first time since 11th grade yesterday; I was in ecstasy. It was made better by a tall, Webster-reminiscent man wandering around the aisles with his small son. I think I have a problem.

So last night I read Sisters in Sanity by Gayle Forman; it wasn't bad. I really wanted music afterwards, though. I can't seem to get enough of it, again. Today I read The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank for the first time. I'm glad I didn't read it until now - now I feel like I understand her. Although she was fourteen at the end of the diary, her thoughts are much more self-aware than mine usually are. I suppose it was her circumstances, but it was also in her character, as well.

I am such a child so much of the time. Even now, as my parents trust me more and more and more, I want to fall back into grass forts of my childhood, make a time capsule from an effervescent bubble, and stay suspened between adulthood and toddlerdom for at least two more years.

One year isn't nearly enough to fold my flesh and bones over everything I love. One more year, and I must become responsible and efficient. I dread it; I look forward to it. This is similar to my feelings on marriage and all that it entails.

I didn't mean for this to become whatever it is.
I wanted to tell a story of how, after a whole summer of nearly ignoring the piano, I learned one of my assigned songs in 30 minutes, did passably well on my finger excercises, and didn't completely fail the chords and scales.
I wanted to mention the amazing tea cookies (half butter, half sugar, basically) that I love to make almost as much as I love to eat.
I was going to say that I have a small glowing story idea inside the center of my heart, ready to be bitten into in November for NaNoWriMo.

The heart wants what it wants, though.

Dream - Priscilla Ahn
Reasons to Love You - Meiko
Gravel Lines - Amy Seeley
The Show - Lenka
Missed the Boat - Modest Mouse
Cape Town - The Young Veins

A New Post.

Here I am, listening to music and enjoying the general feel of autumn...my hoodie stash is expanded by two, made of the softest, gentlest hoodie material I've ever felt. Tea every morning is a perfect start to my day (not that it ever wasn't, but now it is appropriate). Leaves are growing into their golds and reds, and the wind nips at me every now and then. It's not as fierce as winter, not as easy-going as summer, and crisper than spring: it's my favorite.

So this is a good, good time. I am loving every thing about this time of my life: all my fears and insecurities, all my failures and shortcomings, all my strengths and talents, all my features and personality quirks - they all culminate into a girl who is not so grown up as to be blind to the magic behind every blade of grass, not so childish as to be hurt by every insensitivity of the grown-ups.

Forgive me, pretty baby, but I always take the Long Way Home.

It feels strange to be falling into techno; it feels right to be falling into techno. BEATBEATBEATS carried along by a thin voice echoing, fading into dim sparkles: it feels like I've been heading this way for a long, long time. It feels like home.

Why all this ambiguity. Why do I procrastinate and cause myself needless stress. Why must I be different.

Ah, I take that back. I like my differences. They are useful, and normalacy is safe, but overrated. However, I want the procrastination to stop. Techno still makes my head hurt, but I like it. The ambiguity is fine for a little while, but eventually I have to de-fog my perspective.

I have been thinking that love alone is not enough for life. I am beginning to saturate my days with God, and my worldview is changing, little by little. Sometimes I'm afraid. Somedays I blank out and miss every oppurtunity sent my way. Often I have no clue what to say, or what to write, or what to do. LIES. I always know what to do; there are some kind of invisible shackles keeping me tied to the book, or to the nonsense scribblings, or to simple inactivity. And so an area of my life is turned into a complicated mess.

Then, I take stock of the situation. It's not life-threatening, or life-changing. It's just another dent in my character: something to let the Lord work on.

I like saying the Lord better than God. It's softer. Holier? More reverential.

I still think banjos are the sexiest instrument ever. That will never change, even as I do.

In the moonlight, in the daylight

Struggle to get on

And you know me, understand me

You will make me strong

You will make me strong

You will make me strong

Look at me, here I am

Reaching for your arms again

I saw the hurt and all the pain

And get back on my feet

Hear you sighing through the crying

I am not alone

Cause he see me, want to be me

Melancholy so

Melancholy so

Dez, Nove, Oito, Sete, Seis, Cinco, Quatro, Três, Dois, Um

There is no fear, there is peace here

I have found a home

Look at me, here I am

(I am strong, I'm not alone)

I am Strong - Tiesto (feat. Priscilla Ahn)

Filling up.

I feel crazy! Posting comments without fully thinking through the repercussions of opinion and reputation on Facebook! Unheard of! But this is how it goes when all the excitement and expectation, coupled with an incredible weekend charged with God and beauty and friends and bonding, explodes into a new devotional life and a new life in general.

Persevering through the first day of the dreaded senior year, praying and feeling God moving so close to me, and striving for patience with my family - but it's good! Great!

And it will continue. I am determined, desperate, for it to continue.

Three Things.

Getting back into baking... Alexa and I went to IKEA and also FiveBelow and Pier 1, and I bought a chocolate cookbook. All I did after coming home that evening was salivate over the pictures - a picture for every recipe!! I was stoked. I am stoked. In fact, I am extremely stoked, having just devoured enough chocolate to feed a small African country.

Which is why I am on the internet, after a five-day hiatus. Feels good! Actually not really. I am getting into an internet rut, lurking mostly on Facebook and my various comic websites. Getting back into Deviantart after a five-month hiatus. Getting back into a lot of things, actually.

Feels good, like I said. I need this: this chocolate and anonymous friendships. Lots of things don't feel good at all right now.

1. Growing up. It's painful. I watched The Breakfast Club for the first time ever (OH MY GOSH. It's one of my favorites now.) and the black-haired girl who hooks up with Emilio Estevez said, "When you grow up, your heart dies." Oh man. Why does that feel so true? I know it's not, not completely at least, but LORD, it feels like it.

2. Opening my mind. Also painful. I like my pre-conceived notions and letting go of them is incredibly difficult. My fingernails are dug in deep, man. These new horizons are like razors, cutting me to the bone.

3. Softening my heart. Painful. I've been building walls around my heart quietly, peacefully, unknowingly, and now that they're coming down, I feel so naked and vulnerable. I mean, missing someone isn't just occasionally thinking of them once in a while - it's a day-to-day reminder that they're not here today and it's piercingly painful.

Ah well. That's how life is, isn't it? Painful? But pain forces us to grow. That's what I know, and it's really all I've been repeating to myself all day. It's working...but I think the chocolate worked better.

Anyway. Goodnight, my non-existent readers. Thanks for sticking with me through these past couple years.

Bookends

The Walls Are Coming Down - Fanfarlo
First Train Home - Imogen Heap
The Bottom of the Barrel - Amos Lee
Precious Stone - Pete Yorn
Come with Me - Bob Schneider
Any One's Ghost - The National



It's been a week of strange emotions, halfway into it. Monday I nearly fell over from the need to be with my second family, going somewhere where I know with all my heart that I was supposed to go to. I tried to drown my sorrows in housework, and that worked to an extent because I awoke happy the next morning. As the day progressed, I worked on decorating the ceiling above my bed so I could wake up to visions of color, pineapples, and lyrics.



This morning, I puttered around the house, listening to music and drinking my lovely tea. It took me a day and a half to gather enough courage to look at the video blogs of the mission trip, for fear of how they would affect me. I shouldn't have waited so long; they relieved me. I saw all their faces and laughed at their little idiosyncrasies, and now feel free to dive into my music and small projects.


Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key - Billy Bragg
Crossfire - Brandon Flowers
One Wing - Wilco
Bloodbuzz Ohio - The National
Guiding Light - Muse
Savior - Lights

Smaller and Smaller.

Oh how the little things

Strengthen my tiny wings

Help me to take on the world

When you love me there's nothing I wouldn't try

I might even fly

I might even fly

I might even fly

Small Thoughts Fill My Head.

Replenishing my small picture supply and basking in the glow of sweet new music, courtesy of my friend Katelyn. She's a keeper. Lots of thoughts this past week, thoughts and occurrences that will sustain me as the Edge empties out a little for the next two weeks.

I feel so small nowadays, like the influence of all those moment-frozen icons is finally seeping into actual life. Since becoming more active, I've begun to shake and shimmy down into those old jeans; I feel my relationships with friends expanding and maturing.

I feel like I'm riding my own brain waves into a new horizon.

Be Gentle with Me.

There is one show on television that I am completely in love with: Work of Art, on BravoTV. Unlike Top Chef, it allows the viewer to judge for themselves the quality of the work, and involves the personalities of the contestants much more than any other show of the kind, really. Their personalities dictate how they will do in the competition, and it makes it much more personal for the viewer when someone wins or loses.

Also I am finding myself caught by the art world. Is it a practical world? Possibly. Life would be bland without the energy from artistic outlets. Is it a dangerous world? Certainly. Art reveals as much about the viewer as it does the artist.

There are so many things, in fact, that are catching me. Internship, friendship, this new awareness of God, the world that I am a part of, people in general, music and getting lost in it, clothes and fashion, and love.

Oh yes. I love this love I am gaining for people in my life. I am finding that it means going beyond myself, being courageous enough to say difficult things, and doing what is best for the whole.

Love is very practical, when one thinks about it, but not completely. If it were completely practical, one wouldn't be spun in circles by a single glance or stunned when given the chance to speak. It's practical and partially predictable, but so pleasant that it seems like a luxury instead of a necessity.

Well. There are many lyrics about love. That is a gross understatement. I like this one, though, at the moment.


Staring up into the solar system,
All the stars are fixed up in the sky.
I just want to sparkle for a moment
Before I just fizzle out and die.

I'm happy because I'm stupid.
Scared of spiders, scared of flying.
If I wasn't so happy,
I wouldn't be so scared of dying.

So just be gentle with me
(I'm not as young as I was)
And I'll be gentle with you
I'm not as brave as I thought'
Cause my heart gets broken so easily.
So just be gentle, be gentle with me.

Wide awake, waiting like a target
Listening for things I cannot see.
Insects flutter up against my window.
I don't like the way they look at me.

I guess I've always needed
To be needed by someone.
It's a comforting feeling
Being under someone's thumb.

So just be gentle with me
(And if I am ever mean)
And I'll be gentle with you
I never mean to be mean
'Cause I want to pick peaches off of a cherry tree.
Just be gentle, be gentle, be gentle,
Be gentle with me.
So just be gentle with me
Trouble is sometimes
And I'll be gentle with you

I just can't switch myself off
When I want to so I never do
Because I'm mental, be gentle, be gentle,
Just be gentle, be gentle, be gentle
And I'll be gentle, be gentle, be gentle,
Be gentle with you.

After-Thoughts

It feels like some things in my life are slipping away from me, and all I can do is stretch out my hand only to have it grasp empty air. In the next moment, though, it is bumped by something new and shiny, and I hold that instead of the old thing that I silently, desperately, watch float away from me.

Kids Camp brought out a leadership side of me that I didn't know ran so deeply. It gave me confidence in who I am and who I can be. It filled me with a passion for kids and their stories, their hearts, and their bright futures.

Kids Camp revealed a side of me that I want to deny and run from, only because running towards it is so painful and heart-breaking. I want to have a husband so badly that I can taste it and it's all I dream about nowadays, and yet I want to be independent and single for a long, long time. I want to get married young and yet I hate the very thought of it.

Kids Camp showed me that I did have a first love, and that it will be so hard to get over. It shames me that it was who it was, but it doesn't really. It's logical that I would fall in love with him, but at the same time, I am sorrowful about it. Why couldn't my first love have been a sad summer boy, or a wild young rocker?

I close with these lyrics.

You and I

We might be strangers

However close we get sometimes

It's like we never met

But you and I

I think we can take it

All the good with the bad

Make something that no one else has,

But

You and I

You and I

Me and You

What can we do

When the words we use sometimes are misconstrued

Well I won't guess

Whats coming next

I can't ever tell you're

The deepest well

I've ever fallen into

Oh I don't wanna know

Oh I don't wanna know

Oh I don't need to know

Everything about you

Oh I don't wanna know

And you don't need to know

That much about me

To Someone Far Far Away

Dear Ukranians,
I am afraid of visiting you. Will you judge me or think me stupid for my terrible accent? Will our interests and knowledge rotate in completely different circles?

Perhaps my fears are unfounded. Perhaps we will run through forests and fields together, you showing me your favorite hiding places and me following you around, wide-eyed and camera-ready. Perhaps we will sit and listen to music together, Russian or otherwise, and lose ourselves in the moments and melodies. Perhaps you'll introduce me to your friends, one of whom will be kind and blonde and able to speak English or able to overlook my horrible accent, and we will walk hand-in-hand throughout your village streets. Or perhaps you'll shun me and I will walk those fields and forests myself, looking for fairies and trolls in their dells, or firebirds and gnomes.

Really though, I can only guess and wonder at this point in my life. Will I ever see you at all? All I know of you leaves many more questions.

Looking forward to some answers,
Irene.

Yeah,.

Creativity sounds like a curse word to me right now. I was never very confident in my supposed creativity--all I knew was that I could doodle. Not draw. Doodle. To be thrust into roles of responsibility is rewarding, frustrating, and growth-inducing.

I like being busy, though. I like being trusted to do things right, and I love the approval that comes at the end and the camraderie blooming out of the amount of time spent together working for a good goal.

I love coming home now. A long day behind me, I can sit in my room or on the couch, listen to music, and really feel it. Words are coming easier, when I talk to people. Getting along with people is becoming easier.

My arms are beginning to ache like never before, though. I am losing weight, however, and I am nonchalant about it. It's nice fitting into old clothes, and eating better, working more.

I'm tired, but a good tired. Yeah.

Yellow.

Some days I feel pumped, having eaten my bagel and drunk my tea, ready to jump out the door and find my day. The morning is crisp and clear, my paths laid out before me with crushed candy-cane pavements and lollipop blossoms, and I feel like a Norwegian Dane: sturdy but happy.

Today I woke up still unreasonably frightened to be home, dreading going anywhere yet wanting to leave so badly it hurts, wandering around the house knowing I have to do this and that and not being able to lift my arms past the cup of tea that I'm clinging to even though it's empty.

And yet it's not all that bad. I'm alive and going to do some painting during interning. We're going camping next week and the sun will smile down on me until I'm colored a rich yellow.

I am looking forward to the onslaught of yellow. It means missing some things and people, but I've begun to not miss it so much if the other way is the right way. It takes so much energy, battling for the wrong way. Even if it's right sometimes, I have to battle for it. I have no weapons. Psalms 68:13 is not for me, not yet. It grips me but I can't grip it back.

One way internship has been good for me is the steadying of my devotional time. I've begun to go after God with a will, and the result is heady. Yesterday especially: in every purple slant of the morning glories and every expelled breathe when I thought his name, a soft cocoon of eternal love and smiles enveloped me.

Perhaps the verse does apply.

Though ye have lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with yellow gold.

To People Again

i'm glad you're tired. because i'm tired too. i'm tired of wanting things so badly that i can't remember my reasons for wanting them. i thought i knew what i was supposed to do--i mean, i was sure because there was this peace and i wasn't feeling guilty and it was like i was holding a glowing circle in the center of my heart, but then you had to be logical and make me doubt myself because of my word choice.

and now i can't remember (as usual). i can't remember why exactly i felt like i did, and if it even was real or maybe just all in my head again, and why does it matter so much to me whether or not this is god's perfect will, anyway? why does it have to matter so much? why can't i just say, "let's do this," and do it without worrying whether the other path would have been better?

god. hi. it's hard to know when you're talking to me nowadays. i mean, it always was, but now i can't remember much past the things that i cement in my memory purposefully and the bad things. it didn't use to be that way. i would forget all the bad and remember little details.

i just want to have what i see crinkle and the other have: a close-enough-to-touch love for you. and i do; i must, otherwise i wouldn't struggle so with the right-according-to-your-will way. but i guess i want to love you enough to actually be affected by you in daily life, not just big-time decisions.

there. i was honest. i'm not crying. i'm thinking clearly. please meet me.

and you, my dear one, i can't talk to anymore. i look at you and a great anger, perhaps even bitterness, rises up within me. i can't explain it other than you not listening to me. or maybe you are, and i'm not hearing myself. whatever it is, i think i'm hitting adolescence late.

anyway. bye.

To People.

Taking a break for four minutes from everything. I love the letter challenge, but not all of it. This next one I can't think of who to write to for the world. I miss people, sure, but it's not missing so much as other emotions.

So, uh, here. I'll try this:

Dear Missed One,

I miss you, yes, but not as intensely as other people maybe would. Because missing isn't a real emotion, I don't think--it's a jumble of other emotions like longing and sadness and Oh they would like this but they're not here.

So if I ever said to you that I would miss you, it's true. I would long for you when you weren't where you usually where, and I would feel sad that I wouldn't see you for a while, and I would want to tell you things but then remember that you weren't around for me to tell you anything.

I would think of you doing your thing in your corner of the world, and get back to doing mine. Because really, what else can I say? or do? You'll be gone soon, and you're already gone for a little bit, and I hardly see you even though I want to see you so badly, so I suppose I'm so used to missing people that I don't really know how to identify the emotion anymore.

That's it,

Irene.

P.S. Blogger won't let me add any pictures, so I'll just tell you that the picture I would have added was one of a girl lying in a field of white flowers, jacket drawn up to her chin, staring at the unseen sky.

Hands, Feet, Faces, Heart.