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.