Well, here I am in Ft. Lauderdale Florida at my friend Patrick's home. Ben and I arrived here Saturday night after a 16 hour drive through West Virginia, Virginia, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. We brought his mother's car, so I finally got to learn how to drive a stick shift. :) I'm still having a little trouble letting the clutch out smoothly in 1st and 2nd gears...but considering the small amount of practice I had before we actually set out on the trip, I'd say that I'm not doing too shabby at all.
We're staying here with Pat until this Sunday. The poor bastard is at work today, but he's taking off a few days later in the week to goof around with us. It promises to be a nice, relaxing, fun vacation.:) Just what I've been in need of. :)

And now on to more exciting news....

This Thursday past Ben, Shawn, and I have the pleasure of seeing Tool in concert in Huntington, WV. Before I get to the description of the performance let me just say that I will never again purchase tickets on the floor. I had never before been so tightly pressed against a bunch of sweaty strangers as I was that night. The guys who were standing in front of me enjoyed it, I'm sure...with my breasts constantly grazing their backs. And Shawn and Ben tell me that some girls behind them were giving them similar treatment...except that these girls were dancing and rubbing their boobs and bellys and what not all up against Shawn and Ben's backs. I wondered why Shawn had that shit-eating grin on his face most of the night. :) It was pretty wild, though. People kept pushing through the crowd trying to get closer to the stage, and people were moshing, and fighting, and smoking pot. Some guys behind me came close to burning me a couple of times with the big fat doobie that they were passing around. And whenever anyone would move through the crowd, you had to struggle to keep you footing, otherwise you'd be knocked over. And the moshing...GRRRRR...the moshing distracted me throughout Sober and Aenima...I had to concentrate on not being knocked over. Stressful. On the whole, I didn't get to enjoy the concert as much as I would have, had I been sitting like the very wise Wayne, Cheryl, and Rose (my brother, sister-in-law, and sister).

The first backdrop was of some sort of ancient stone carved face, and when the lights would shine on it, it would turn a variety of colors. To either side of the stage, hanging from the ceiling of the arena, were two large screens onto which a variety of odd and somewhat distrubing images were projected throughout the show. A few of these images: a flying dove made out of eyeballs; an eye being held open with some metal device...blood and muscle surrounding the eye...and some white fluid was being injected into it; a circle of blacked-eyed white-bodied creatures that were shaped like Herschy's Kisses...they had no arms or legs...and they were each sucking on the pointy tip of the head of the creature in front of them...all in a circle feeding on each other; white-bodied naked swimmers, a multi-colored flace with an eye placed vertically in the center. The second backdrop was a spiral pattern made up of eyes and a large pentagram was hanging down from the ceiling, placing it in the middle of the spiral.

The guitarist was positioned front stage-right, the basist was front stage-left, the drummer was behind the basist and a bit toward the center of the stage, and Maynard was behind the guitartist a few feet and more to the center of the stage (but not directly centered). He was clad totatlly in black leather...black leather pants, black leather jacket/shirt...and he was sporting either a short mohawk with a black stripe painted down the center of his face or a black stripe painted on his head and down the center of his face.:) He never once turned around to face the crowd...but every now and then we'd get to see his profile. He sang every song in his place there on stage, with his back to the audience, dancing some strange slow dance...every now and then turning his right leg out to the side and stomping to the beat of the drums. He never once spoke to us. But he sang and oh, how he sang. And a couple of times he also played guitar, and Danny drummed, and Justin played his bass, and Adam played his guitar. And it was Tool in concert. And I was there!

They opened with Sober and closed with Lateralus, and from there I can't really recall the order. Aenima was played, along with Stinkfist, H., Schism, and Parabola. They did two songs that I didn't recognize, one with an incredibly long build up. One of these songs I think was Reflection, because I remember the phrase "It's calling me" being repeated over and over. There was a 20 minute long jam session before they did Lateralus, where they brought some guy on stange with some other drums. That rocked. :) I really wanted to hear them perform Eulogy and Forty-Six and 2, but oh well. Maybe next time!:)

One thing that strikes me as I think about the placement of everyone on stage and of Maynard's behavior...they appeared as a band...as Tool...not as Maynard and his guitarist, bass player, and drummer. This placed the focus on the music. All there was was the music and the images.

The night of the concert, I was a bit disappointed that Maynard didn't speak to the audience. I was and still am curious to hear the perspectives and perceptions of the man who writes such brilliant lyrics. I wanted to hear his "positive energy" speech that I've read about. All we got was "Thank you for sharing this moment with us." right after the jam session, and I think that was said by Adam. I thought, at the time, that maybe he didn't speak because he was slightly pissed off at the crowd for how they received the opening act.

You see, not only was the music of Tomahawk (the opening act) pure shit, but the lead singer was an asshole. He kept insulting West Virginia and West Virginians. He said, "Come on people! Get loud! You're supposed to have more energy than that! You're supposed to be the most fucked up Hillbillies around!" Well that wasn't too bad...most of the people cheered at that one. (idiots) "What are you guys drinking tonight? Everclear isn't it? Grain alcohol? You guys are fed that in your bottled down here!" Stupid thing to say. A few people cheered, but most flipped him off. One thing he didn't realize is that even though he was in West Virginia, he was in one of the largest urban centers in West Virginia. These people may speak with an accent but the majority of them are not rednecks...and even your serious redneck takes childrearig seriously. This was an insult to the intelligence of our parents and their ability to take care of their children. Some people started flipping him off. Then he went into another shit song, during which he mostly screamed and made stupid noised into the microphone. The crowd wasn't into it. Not much cheering or dancing. Just watching. He said, "I think maybe you guys are just eager for Tool." Cheering. And then he did a mocking impression of Sober. Then said, "Or maybe you just want to hear some music that's familiar to you. (asking the guitarist) Do you know any banjo music? Here's one I think you guys know...you can hum along." And then proceeded to hum the opening of Wildwood Flower. Pissed off audience. Many middle fingers flying up, including mine. Then he said, "Man you guys are tough. Damn, this girl up here in the front row looks so pissed off! What's the matter honey, haven't you ever had any dick lately? Have you ever had any Yankee dick? I'll be you've had Daddy's though." Many boos and middle fingers flying. Chants of "fuck you, fuck you" rising from all over the arena. I was among those chanting and extending my finger. They finally gave up and left the stage. Stupid cocksuckers.

Anyway, if Maynard was annoyed at our reaction to Tool's opener, well...I'm sorry but you don't go around insulitng people and expect to be well-received. All in all, I enjoyed the concert and I most definately plan to see Tool again...this time with seats.:)

ooopsie!

You know you've had a long day when you turn on some music and lean back in your computer chair to listen...and then find yourself waking up 5 minutes later with a pain in your neck from how it was propped against the chair. :)

I need sleep!!!!!

I intended to post this on Saturday night, but for some reason Blogger didn't like my mother's computer and decided not to work properly. At any rate...here it is. :)

Friday Night Buddhist

I went to hear Buddhist monk, Bhante Gunarantana, speak at University of Charleston last night. Bhante G., as most at the gathering referred to him, is a 74-year-old Theravadan monk from Sri Lanka who teaches meditation worldwide and is the author of “Mindfulness in Plain English” and “Eight Mindful Steps to Happiness”.

I had the awkward pleasure of riding up in the elevator with the evening’s speaker. I arrived early (for once) and was trying to find my way to the third floor room, but wasn’t having much luck. So I decided to wait and follow the next people that were looking for it. The next people happened to be Bhante G. and a professor. I don’t really know the proper greeting one should give to a Buddhist monk, but I bowed my head to him and held the elevator door open for him and allowed him to get on before me. We found the sign pointing the way to the room hanging inside the elevator and laughed together at the error in judgment on the part of the student who had hung the signs. :)

It was a very intimate gathering held in a small room on the third floor of the UC Student Union. Bhante G. was seated on a cushion on a small couch and was sitting cross-legged. He was about 5’3”, with dark brown skin, a shaved little head, and he was dressed in the orange robes of a Buddhist monk. There were two lamps on end tables on either side of the couch that served as the only lighting in the room. About 8 rows of folding chairs were set out facing the couch, I was on the second row.

His talk was on the subject of loving friendliness or what he called mehta. (Uncertain on spelling) First, he led us in a mehta meditation, which was so relaxing! He rang this little bell three times and then asked us to close our eyes, pay attention to our breathing: to the feel of our chest cavity expanding and shrinking as the air came in and out of our bodies, and to really contemplate the words that he would be speaking. And then he began, in his very soft, singsong voice, to say something a bit like this:

May no harm come to me
May no suffering come to me
May I be happy, healthy, and peaceful
May I be successful
May I find strength and courage to face the inevitable troubles, problems, and difficulties I find along life’s path.
Etc.

He went on to wish all of these things for our teachers, our families, our friends, our enemies, unfriendly people, and eventually, all people.

Whenever an outside thought of what I had to do tomorrow or if I had to do laundry or wash dishes later that night came into my mind, I immediately pushed it away and concentrated on the sound of his voice and the meaning of his words. After a few minutes I found it was no effort to focus on his words…I was deep in wishing well my fellow human beings, those who are friendly to me and those who are unfriendly. I was exuding complete goodwill. And was it ever relaxing! I felt totally content after the meditation was over…totally at peace. Like I’d just received a full body massage. And I thought, “I’ve got to do this more often! I wonder if I can take him home with me?”

With everyone feeling relaxed and peaceful, Bhante G. began his talk on mehta. Basically the principle of mehta is exactly the same as that of our Golden Rule. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Have love and compassion and kindness for everyone, regardless of how they behave to you. If people are angry, rude, if they swear at you, you should not respond with anger, rudeness, and equal swearing. Nope. You should have compassion for them. Why? Because those people are not normal people. Something has happened to those people to hurt them and make them put up defenses of anger, etc. Their lives have not been happy and peaceful…they have not had normal lives. So we should have compassion for them.

Sounds simple enough and very much like what I’ve heard mentioned in church all of my life. However, it’s the most difficult thing in the world to actually practice. On a good day, sure, it’s easy. But when someone stresses you out…makes you angry…it’s hard to just feel compassion. It’s hard not to yell obscenities at them. :) At least for me.

He mentioned how it is human nature for us all to make comparisons of ourselves with others so that we may understand our places in society and ourselves. He noted that most of us make negative comparisons of ourselves with others…how we are different. He says that he and his fellow monks teach that we should make positive comparisons of ourselves with others…how we are similar. It is much easier to be compassionate with someone if you feel that they are like you. :) True, true, true.

Bhante G. went on to say that we should send feelings of friendship, compassion, and love to everyone, regardless of how they treat us, not only for their sake, but also for our own. Compassion and friendliness toward others is the first step toward happiness. After all, can you be angry when you’re helping someone? No, not really. Because you’re not thinking about yourself at that moment when you’re engaged in the helping action. So being friendly brings us closer to happiness and it spreads happiness to others. This can be true even if other people are unaware of the goodwill that you're sending them or the good action that you're doing.

He illustrated this point by telling a story of a man who lived in Washington D.C. near the Washington beltway. For many years this man got up early every morning and waved to all of the people driving their cars along the beltway to work. Most people never noticed him. He was so hard to see and they were all speeding by so quickly and preoccupied by the thoughts of their days ahead of them. But someone saw him…and wondered what he was doing and why he was waving every morning. Eventually Dan Rather got wind of the story and went to interview the man. He asked the man what he was doing, waving to all of these people like that. The man replied that he was wishing them all a good morning…wishing them a safe journey to work and a happy day. Dan Rather said, “But they can’t hear you…and most of them don’t see you or just think you’re crazy if they do see you.” “It doesn’t matter”, replied the man. “I don’t want them to see me. I do this for my own satisfaction. I believe that if I am sincere in wishing them a safe journey, that my goodwill has a chance to effect the course of their lives.” That story got a huge response in the Washington area. And the people became aware that someone out there was wishing them happiness and safety. They were made happy by the goodwill and friendliness of this man and he was made happy by wishing them safety and happiness. Not only they were affected, but even when Bhante G. told this story, it made me smile and made me feel that I wanted to do similar actions of goodwill toward my fellow man. :) And perhaps it will make you feel the same when you read it. :)

He also spoke of how people truly can sense others emotions. Even if you don’t actually say anything to express your goodwill and love, others can feel it. This, he said, is usually more evident in children because they communicate more simply than adults. Adults have learned more complex forms of communication…mainly verbal…and their understanding of the world is more intellectual. Also they are often too preoccupied by their busy lives to focus on the feelings exuding from others. Children, however, are more tuned in to emotes because their understanding of the world is a more emotional understanding…their communication is not as verbally focused as that of adults. However, it still remains that adults can sense others emotions…they will just not be as aware of it as children. It will be a subconscious sensation. If adults make a conscious effort to quiet their minds, of course, they can become aware of sensing these feelings from others.

To illustrate how people can sense others emotions, especially children, he told a story of something that happened to him while in an airport in London. He was flying from London to Madrid, Spain where he was going to teach a meditation retreat. His flight was delayed several hours so he decided to use the time to do some mehta meditation. He sat cross-legged on a bench and began his meditation…sending thoughts of goodwill and safe journeys out to all of the people in the airport, etc. And after sitting there for about 30 minutes he felt someone sit down on the bench beside him. He kept meditating and did not open his eyes. A few minutes later he felt the person get up from the bench and then he felt two little arms wrap around his neck. At this point he opened his eyes and found an adorable little four year old, blonde haired, blue-eyed girl holding on to him. He had remembered seeing her earlier, walking along with her mother. Apparently she had become lost and when she couldn’t find her mother, she made her way to him. Bhante G. found it very pleasing that she came to him, but wondered why, of all people, she came to him. He said that he was probably the most strange looking individual in the whole airport. A little brown man in orange robes, sitting cross-legged, engaged in meditation on a bench. But he felt that she could sense the feelings of goodwill and love that he was sending out and came to him, knowing that he was friendly and could help her. When they finally found her mother, she had become so attached to him that she didn’t want to leave his side. He had to tell her to go with her mother before she would actually leave. :)

He told a few more interesting stories…he was very clever and was an entertaining story teller. I learned a little more about Buddhism that I didn’t know…like how Bhante believes that the feelings and thoughts that you have during the last moments of your life will effect your next life. If you are accepting and at peace with dying, you will have a peaceful next life and vice versa. The idea of accepting death, if it is obviously inevitable, makes sense to me. I’d rather have my last moments be a peaceful reflection of all of the beauty that I’ve experienced than a confused and angry struggle. As for the next life thing…well I truly don’t know what I believe about what happens after death. I was raised with the Christian belief of heaven and hell…but who knows? Lately I’ve been thinking that maybe there’s nothing…or maybe we come back. Who knows?

He also mentioned another reason for the little girl in the airport being drawn to him that I found interesting. He said that she could have been drawn to him because possibly he had had some attachment to her in a past life. The whole idea of past lives and future lives intrigues me…and I find fascinating the possibility that our connections to people in one lifetime can bleed over into another. I know that I’ve met some people in my life that I feel so familiar with, even though I’ve never met them before…or anyone like them. There have been people whose souls I feel that I recognize…and I couldn’t explain why I felt that way…and I was so inexplicably drawn to these people. So who knows, maybe it’s true?

I thoroughly enjoyed myself and I’m interested in reading his books to learn more about meditation. If I could reach that feeling of peacefulness that I did last night at least once a day, I think I might be a happier person on the whole. :) And maybe I should start waving at people on their way to work in Charleston too. :)

Seriously, I am interesting in learning more about meditation. Bhante and some other monks established a monastery in Hampshire County, WV and they hold meditation retreats. I think it would be great to go to one of these. Here’s the web address if you’re interesting in learning more:

www.bhavanasociety.org

Let me know if any of you are interested in going to a retreat with me! :)

There are certain moments in a person’s life when everything seems so beautiful and you’re not afraid to believe.

Lying in the arms of the one that you love is such a moment.

I don’t know what’s coming next, but it really doesn’t matter. All that I want and need is to be here in this moment with my love, our limbs tangled together like heavy roots.

All that I need: the feel of his skin against mine, strong arms wrapped around me, his eyes, so intense and alight with passion. My heart is tight from the beauty of this moment and my soul cries, “He’s so alive! And I am truly alive! Burning and burning…and I’ve found someone who burns the way that I do! This is what life is…everything else is an illusion.”

In a moment such as this, words are unnecessary. They are too hard and will only shatter the beauty and bring reality and time crashing back into my world. And so I soak up the bliss and sweet silence as long as I can. But not all is silent. For occasionally my love or I will whisper and murmur, each vocally caressing the other: “my love”…“so beautiful”…“my love, my love”

And once again I believe in fate and destiny. I believe in truth and beauty. And I believe in love.

But words eventually must come. And with them comes reality, storming in to take possession of my world once more. And with reality comes time. And with time comes responsibility. Until I end up back here…the place where my only record of that moment of beauty and life is memory…and all I can do is wait for the next one.


"We barely remember who or what came before this precious moment,
We are choosing to be here right now. Hold on, stay inside
This holy reality, this holy experience.
Choosing to be here in
This body. This body holding me.
Be my reminder here that I am not alone in
This body, this body holding me.
Feeling eternal
All this pain is an illusion."

~ Tool from Parabola on their Lateralus CD

Well, I resisted the seductive lure of Mitsubishi’s current marketing campaign. They’re currently advertising that you can get a car with no interest (ever) and no payments for a year. This is a fucking spectacular deal!!! However, you must buy a new car for the deal to apply.

As all of my friends know, I need a new car. Hell, I need a car period. I had a car once…it was an Easter Egg Blue Chevy Citation…but it decided to develop a serious oil leak and die two weeks into my freshman year at college. I got the damn thing home to my parent’s driveway and there it’s been ever since. So, on and off for the past 5 years of my college career I’ve been driving my mother’s Chevy Corsica (which has been a wonderful car with tons of power…Vrooom.! Vrooom!) or my boyfriend’s Plymouth Acclaim. I’ve been bumming for the past 5 years and honestly, I’m tired of it. My poor Mother, hasn’t had her car at all for the last 2 years and that’s just awful! She doesn’t mind…in fact, she has never complained…and my dad is there to take her wherever she needs to go, so it’s not like she’s totally stuck. But I still feel horrible and grateful all at the same time.

The point is that I’ve been thinking that I need a car of my own and this deal was just so tempting. However, after careful analysis of my projected financial state for the next 5 years, I decided that a new car…even one with no fucking interest and no fucking payments for a year…is a bad idea. I simply can’t afford it and go to college too. I’d need a full-time job just to nail the payment, let alone the cost of insurance.

The sad thing is that Mitsubishi almost nailed my ass…they almost got me. And I would’ve had a sweet car but no M.A…and I would be working a job with no chance for advancement or pay increase.

It’s amazing and scary at how strong the lure of possessions can be. We convince ourselves and corporations convince us that we need possessions. If you just had this new car, then you’d be cool…if we just had this new stereo system, then we could feel good about ourselves. And once we meet that first compulsion, it becomes easier to give in the next time. So we buy bigger, better, and more expensive merchandise. We become good little consumers.

It’s truly fucking scary. Because the reality is that all of our possessions are going to be worth nothing one day. We can’t take them with us when we die…what’s valuable to us will not necessarily be valuable to our children…and owning certain things simply doesn’t make any difference in your worth or the type of person that you are. They are just things.

Another facet of reality is that, in today’s society, some of these things (like cars) we do actually need to function effectively. If I didn’t have a car, I would have to walk several miles to a bus stop so that I could get to work. So that my life runs more efficiently, I need a car. So that I don’t feel so horrible over having my mother’s car, I need to give her car back to her and buy one of my own. However, I would be happy to settle for a nice $3000 number…something that will serve its function, nothing more and nothing less. And that way I can still afford to go to grad school and everybody’s happy.

Yay! Don't you feel better for having read this? :)

Afraid of Women

Women totally baffle me. And the fact that I am one makes this very strange, I know. But I’m recognizing the fact that I’m very wary of other women. A bit frightened by them, in fact.

Whenever I meet new females I’m instantly on my guard. In a social situation around new females I usually just sit back and observe. I’m cordial…I make pleasant conversation…but I never have the desire to pursue the relationship.

So, I ask myself why am I so fucking edgy around other ladies?

The first answer that comes to mind is, “I don’t trust them”. Don’t trust them in respect to what? Do I feel that these females threaten my relationship with Ben? No…not really. I’m pretty secure there.

So what don’t I trust them with? My secrets…my thoughts…my heart. Women can be extremely vicious creatures…downright malevolent. A woman will do wrong to another woman that which a man would never even dream of doing to another man. So I suppose I’m afraid to get close to one…afraid she’ll hurt me because she got angry with me for some petty reason. And honestly any relationship with a typical woman takes so much effort…effort that I simply don’t have time to give. God, and the conversations that most women want to have are simply gossip or about love relationships. Over and over and over again they’ll rip apart the last meetings with their crush, analyzing every little detail to fucking death. It’s tiring. And gossip just makes me want to vomit. Don't get me wrong, I still have the occasional need to
pour out my heart to someone uninvolved concerning a relationship issue. We all need someone to talk to at sometime. It's great to have a soundingboard. But to have that be your only conversation each and every time? Jesus!

Men, however, I understand. Men are so much easier. They (usually) won’t divulge anything you tell them in confidence just for a bit of juicy conversation (like a woman will). They don’t take a ton of effort either. You can go without seeing one of you guy friends for a month or more and when you are reunited, you will be pretty much on the same note that you were the last time you saw them. With a chick it can be this way…but it usually isn’t. And men don’t (usually) gossip…and they will ask your opinion on a love relationship once and once you give your opinion, they let it go. Lovely. No stress. Plus men like to DO things. And their conversation will involve things outside of love relationships and gossip, like books, movies, music, etc.

The one close girl friend that I had was very much like me. Her name is Nikki. We usually got along better with men…and we were a bit surprised when we found each other. She was a sister…a kindred spirit…and I loved her very much. I still love her, but I miss her.

I moved to Huntington to go to Marshall and she stayed home and went to a community college. The first couple of years, we still managed to stay in touch. I would drive down to visit my family on the weekends and would go and see her while I was there. And we would email. (She was never very good at replying.) And I would call her. Her parents were very controlling, unreasonable people who felt that I was a bad influence on her because I told her to stand up to them more than she did. They treated her like a child and she was their little whipping girl. I remember her mother making her clean the bathroom and kitchen before she could come and stay the night with me. These were more than normal chores that she was given. They were deterrents. Her parents thought that if they put enough obstacles in our way, we’d just give up on being friends. But they were wrong. She’d do what was required and sometimes I’d drive down and help her clean and then we’d go back to my house.

(I used to get so upset with her parents, but I realize that they were doing what they thought was best for her at the time. And perhaps it was. Perhaps I was a bad influence. I know they didn’t want her to end up like me, psychotic and living in sin.)

I could be myself with her. That’s one thing that I never had with any of the other shallow friendships that I had before her. To be as fucking goofy as I wanted to be. To have moments of stupidity and air headedness and she accepted me in spite of it. To be serious and contemplate life and it’s meaning. To think aloud and express my desires. I didn’t have to be a magazine…I could be real. And that was so refreshing. I can’t tell you how much I miss that.

The third and fourth years I was at school our communications dropped off drastically. I was working a lot and my course work increased in difficulty…so I honestly didn’t have the time to go home as often. I probably made it home about once every 2 or 3 months…and that time I spent with the family, of course.
I would call when I was home, but she was working a lot then too so it was hard to get hold of her. Sometimes I would be successful and we’d talk for a bit…or I’d go visit her at work.

She worked at Wal-Mart in Beckley as one of those people that puts misplaced merchandise back in the proper place. She handled the Health and Beauty section. Her shift was from 4pm or 5pm to midnight or beyond, depending on how quickly she finished. I used to go up to Wal-Mart and help her restock and straighten the shelves in her department, just so she could get out and we could spend some time together.

We’d spend the night with each other or we’d go somewhere and grab some food and chat. Once we got two bottles of Arbor Mist and got drunk at the bottom of my hill. We had parked just off the road in a well-known make-out location. People kept driving by and honking or yelling, “Get some!!” We thought it was so fucking hilarious.

When at school I emailed, but I had less time to do that. In addition to work and school, I was also in a depression the third and forth years. The depression factor made me less motivated to do anything…so everything was a struggle. I don’t know how I did it really. I don’t think I was consciously aware of being depressed then…I just kept saying that I was tired and stressed out. The one thing that motivated me was that I knew Ben was depressed and I was part of the reason that he was in depression…and I had a responsibility to see him well and on his feet again. To mend what had been broken. And so I pushed and pushed and pushed. By the forth year, poor Nikki was lost in all of my emotional muck and mire. And I was too emotionally crazy and exhausted at this time to realize that I missed her. I was just trying to survive tomorrow.

And last year was pretty much the same. It was pretty stressful as far as school and finances were concerned…but Ben was doing better. And I was starting to realize that I had been depressed…that I was, in fact, still in a bit of a depression. By this time, I never heard from Nikki. The last couple of times I had any contact with her was after Ben’s father passed away…she sent me an email letting me know how sorry she was…. and she sent me pictures of her brother’s new baby girl.

During our times of silence her grandmother passed away and I wasn’t able to go to the funeral or be there for her. We had a couple of phone conversations and I tried to comfort her as she had comforted me just a few months earlier when my grandmother had died. But I wasn’t able to be there…I was too busy, busy, busy…and I feel like I failed her. I’m so sorry, Nikki.

I’ve always known that we grow up and as we grow up leave things from out past behind us. That’s part of life. I just really wasn’t prepared to leave Nikki behind. She’s the only woman, besides my sister, that I’ve ever trusted. And I miss her.

So I'm not dead. The dizziness passd and I lived and all that shiznit.

What I am, however, is so so so fucking tired. Always, I'm tired. I can never seem
to get enough rest, because I simply don't have enough time. I work all day and
then go work out and then come home and eat...by that time its 9PM, so I only have
an hour or two to do something enjoyable or to get household chores done.

But lately I haven't been getting enough sleep because I've been doing chores plus
watching movies or messing around on my computer until midnight or beyond.
And my weekends...hah! It seems like someone else always has a plan for my
weekend. Either my mom or some other family member that I really can't say no
to asks me to do something for or with them. So I use my time to make them
happy, and although I might enjoy myself a bit in these suggested or forced
activities, I'm not truly happy with time spent in that way because I didn't
choose to spend it in that way. It was chosen for me. Grrrrrr!!!

Being tired is bad enough, but spending most of my time doing thing I don't really
want to do is driving me fucking nutz! We have one chance here on earth. One
life. One. And time goes so fast! I'm just afraid of wasting time, I guess. Afraid
of becoming stagnant. Afraid of not living and touching and tasting more of life.
God, I need a change...and soon. Or maybe a nice, relaxing vacation would do
the trick.

*sigh* I'm sorry for bitching. I'm just sleepy. I need to go dream of happy stuff
and then it will all seem okay.

Bye-Bye.

My head feels so strange….

Ben and I went to the St. Albans fireworks display tonight. As I was walking back toward the car, I noticed that I wasn’t quite steady on my feet. This wouldn’t be a big deal if I had had some alcohol…but I haven’t had any today!

God, I feel fucked up. I try to look at one thing and the image just twists and spins, like when I’m drunk. The funny thing is that I was planning on getting smashed when I got home…but now I’m too frightened to do so.

The only thing I had to eat out of the ordinary today was pizza from Papa Johns…maybe someone was being funny and drugged me. What a lovely thought. Or maybe a little bug that was carrying a plague of some sort has bitten me, infecting me with a disease that will cause my flesh to break and split and slowly fall from my body. The possibilities are endless.

Hey folks...I'm afraid I don't have much to say.

This lyric was running through my head all day, so I thought the only logical thing to do was to post it! After I heard her sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow , I was intrigued by her airy, whimsical voice. So then I listened to this song, Hey Jupiter (The Dakota Version), and fell in love with the lyric. I hope you like it. (Download it! Download it! Listen to the purty music!!!)

Toodles!

~Ina

No one's picking up the phone, guess it's me and me.
And this little masochist, she's ready to confess,
All the things that I never thought that she could feel and,

Hey Jupiter, nothing's been the same.
So are you gay, are you blue?
Thought we both could use a friend to run to.
And I thought I wouldn't have to be with you... something new.

Sometimes I breath you in, and I know you know.
And sometimes you take a swim, found your writing on my wall.
Well, if my hearts soaking wet, boy your boots can leave a mess.

Hey Jupiter, nothing's been the same.
So are you gay, are you blue?
Thought we both could use a friend to run to.
And I thought you wouldn't have to keep with me, hiding.

Thought I knew myself so well, all the dolls I had.
Took my leather off the shelf, your apocalypse was fab.
For a girl who couldn't choose between the shower or the bath.
And I thought I wouldn't have to be with you, a magazine.

No one's picking up the phone, guess it's clear he's gone.
And this little masochist is lifting up her dress.
Guess I thought I could never feel things I feel and,

Hey Jupiter, nothing's been the same.
So are you gay, are you blue?
Thought we both could use a friend to run to.

I go from day to day.
I know where the cupboards are.
I know where the car is parked.
I know he isn't you.

Hey Jupiter, nothing's been the same.
So are you safe, now we're through?
Thought we both could use a friend to run to.
Hey Jupiter...

~ By Tori Amos from Hey Jupiter (The Dakota Version) on her Hey Jupiter Single

There was no warning. It could have just as easily been me.

As I pulled up to the beginning of that sharp curve in Shadyside Road, I saw a stopped car and beyond that red, twisted metal and broken glass that once was a red car. I fearfully got out of my car, and walked up to the wreckage to ask:

Is anybody hurt?

The man who had been driving the red car was not hurt, but his clothes were speckled with blood from the bits of glass that had dug into his skin. He was about 40 years old, and his worried, startled forehead wrinkled in a sexy kind of way. There was a cut there on his brow and another one on his left cheek, with small streams of red flowing down his face. He said that he had been wearing his glasses and was worried about having glass in his eyes. We found a towel in his car and I helped him to stop the slight bleeding and clean up a bit. After that he couldn’t stand still and began pacing back and forth in the middle of the road. I asked the lady in the car behind me to call 911 and then I went back to talk to the man.

And then all the lights came flashing. Blue and yellow. White and red. Incessantly flashing. And in their flashing I felt the question:

Is anybody hurt?

Another car, further ahead in the turn, was up on the left shoulder of the road…nearly up on the railroad tracks. It had come to rest on its side, with headlights gazing in directions that they should not. I could not see the color in the dark, but I could see the smoke pouring out from the wreckage. And I was too afraid to walk up to it. Too afraid of what I might find. Lucky for me, the people in the green car just ahead of me had decided to do what I was afraid to do. To walk up and ask:

Is anybody hurt?

Cars in a row, waiting behind me with headlights glaring.
One by one those lights dimmed and the people got out of their cars, one by one.
A sporadic procession came forth. A waitress in her brown apron and then a cashier in her bright red smock. An older couple in khaki shorts holding hands. A middle-aged mother and her pre-teen daughter. A man with his infant son. All of them walking down the side of the road to ask:

Is anybody hurt?

More lights came. All orange now. They announced the arrival of a couple of wrecking trucks come to tow the crushed vehicles away.

But the thing that struck me the most about the whole incident was the quiet. When I first arrived there was nothing but the sounds of the crickets and my car engine. Even after the police came, and the firefighters, and the paramedics, and even the wreckers, all that you could hear were the sounds of crickets chirping, the calm, professional voices of the emergency crew, and the steady rumble of engines.

And somehow I never found out if anyone was hurt.

Merrily, merrily, merrily...Life is but a dream...

Dreams. Dreams are strange, strange things.

Some dreams are pure whimsy and nonsense…just my brain letting off steam.
Others are directly related to the desires and/or fears of my waking life.
Some that I’ve had have been prophetic. Others…the Nightmares…are just
pure terror that by brain throws together to make sure that my heart can still
race with fright. There are some that seem so close to reality, you’d swear
you really did the things you dreamed. And then there are those that are just
plain humorous. So humorous, in fact, that I sometimes wake myself up laughing.:)

I had one such dream a couple of nights ago. I think I scared the shit out of Ben, breaking the quiet of the morning with my full, body-shaking laughter. I suppose it must be kind of creepy…everything being still and then the person sleeping beside you bursts into laughter for no apparent reason. :) Poor guy.

Anyway, I’m blogging this because I know you guys will get a kick out of the dream.
Don’t worry…no one is being skinned in this one.

The dream begins with Ben and I walking through the door of our friends’ new apartment in Lexington. We’ve come to visit and help the boys get settled into their new place. Shawn went out to pick up some pizza for us all to munch on, so only Ken and Chris are there when we arrive.

It seems like a nice, very large apartment with two levels, beige carpet, and off-white walls. Ben and I walk into the living room to find Chris sitting on a plump, blue sofa and Ken sitting on the floor. It appears that they’ve both broken into a bottle of some sort of liquor. (Scotch?) And Ken is pretty well drunk, while Chris seems fairly sober. The boys have just moved in so there are boxes everywhere, some unopened, some half-unpacked, some totally empty except for packing peanuts and newspaper.

After everyone greets everyone, Ben and I sit with them and chat. We haven’t had any dinner so we’re all really hungry. In fact, on the way in Ben and I were so hungry we stopped and bought a box of generic cereal at a gas station. It was a cereal sort of like Fruity Peebles (just as colorful and fruity) but it also had brightly colored marshmallow dinosaurs in it. So I’m still munching on this cereal as we’re talking, waiting on Shawn to come back w/ the pizza.

Well, in a fit of silliness, Chris jerks the box from my hands, sending a bit of the cereal flying up into the air, to land on him and on the couch. He then starts mocking the fact that I have generic cereal…and then makes fun of the toy that the box says is inside. The toy is some sort of little man.

“There’s a man in every box! There’s a man in every box!” Chris repeats over and over with a crazed look in his eye and a high-pitched squeak to his voice.

Ken takes up the chant and then holds his index finger, pointed skyward, in front of his mouth and lets out a loud, “SSSHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

Then he dramatically stands up and takes the box from Chris’s hands and holds it up close to his face.

“Don’t you see?” he says. “There’s a man in every box! There’s a man in every box! There’s a man in every box!”

And then he throws the cereal down and runs and jumps head first into a large box at the far end of the room. As Ken’s mass pushes into the box, little white packing peanuts come violently flying out. Once Ken’s dive is done, all you can see of him are his legs and feet hanging out of the box. He makes no move to get out and just lays there cackling.

Ben, Chris, and I are rolling with laughter. And this is when I woke myself up actually laughing.

Okay…so maybe it’s not all that funny. Maybe you just had to be there. :)

At any rate, we can now proceed to the dream analysis. What does the generic cereal represent? What do the packing peanuts represent? NOT A GODDAMNED THING IF NOT CEREAL AND MOTHA’ FUCKING PACKING PEANUTS!!!!!

You see, this dream is about having fun being silly with my friends. It means that I miss my friends and anticipate the day that we’re all a little closer together so that we can do stupid shit together! :)

I love you guys and I miss you!!!! Here’s to good times in the future!!!!!

Today was Ben’s 25th birthday. We had a cookout at his Mom’s house, with his
entire family and some of mine. On the whole it was a very enjoyable day and,
of course, the food was fantastic and plentiful. :)

There was volleyball and badminton and there were water guns. And there
were mothers and fathers and children and babies. And there was cake
with ice cream and a table loaded with presents. And margaritas!!!!

Tonight, after everyone had gone home, Shawn, Ben, Charlotte, and I sat
out on the screened-in back porch and talked and told each other jokes
and laughed. The moon was so full and bright so the sky was a deep,
midnight blue…not black. The fireflies were furiously sparkling in the
trees and the grass. :) When I saw that I thought, “No wonder people
believed in faeries.”

It was a good day.

Happy Birthday, Baby.


“Into your arms I will run
Soft limbs browned by the sun
And in your heart I will hide
Gleaning peace from the love in your eyes.”

~ c.g. from Not a god

Dream A Little Dream

And so my fucked up nightmares seem to have started up again. For those of you
not familiar with the nightmares I've had in the past...well let's just say that they
can get pretty horrifying and gory.

Anyway, last night I had this dream that I was hanging out at mine and Ben's
apartment with these three chicks and we were maybe a little younger than I
am now. Maybe 19 or so? And so, this guy comes over that was, at one
time, involved with one of these girls in a love relationship. (Keep in mind that
I have no idea who these women are. Not real life friends at all.)

The guy had ended the relationship with this girl in a bad way and she was a
bit pissed about the whole thing, but showing a friendly front to him. So
these people are all in my living room chatting and laughing and I go down-
stairs for something. I'm halfway down the stairs when I hear the sounds of
struggle coming from upstairs and I hear the guy let out a horrible scream.
I'm too stunned to do anything and too terrified, so I just back up against the
wall and slide down and listen to my friends murder this guy in my living room.

When I do finally go upstairs, somehow all the blood has been cleaned up
and the body has been disposed of. The only thing that remains is a large
sack which contains the guy's possessions and clothing...and his skin.
The girls skinned him after they killed him. My friend asks me to keep this
sack until she can come back for it and I, disoriented and too terrified
to say no, agree.

I put the sack in the back of the little closet in the living room, with the
beanbag, stuffed animals, and Christmas wrapping paper. I'm very paranoid
...terrified that Ben will find out and hate me. Terrified that the police will find
out. Terrified at what I was doing...covering up a murder that was committed
in my house by my friend.

Being paranoid, I act all freaky when Ben goes to get something out of that
closet a few days later.He knows that I'm hiding something from him in
there and decides to search the whole thing. He eventually finds the bag
with the human skin. It's getting a little rank, now too.

He is obviously disgusted, frightened, and angry with me at first. Then I
explained what happened, and how fast it all happened, and how I just
didn't know what to do. So he believes me and decides to help me.
Then we started to consider our options. Could we go to the police?
Would the police believe us if we told them about it? Would I get away
without being convicted as a murderer? And it had been several days
at this point with no word from my murderer friend. She probably wasn't
coming back. We decided that we had to get rid of this bag.
But where? Where could we dump it and not have it connected to us?

Well...then the police became involved. A missing person investigation
started on the guy and since our place was the last place he was seen
alive...the cops came interview me. Luckily Ben was out with the sack
of skin trying to find a good place to dump it, so when they searched
the house they found nothing and I made up some story about the
guy leaving about an hour after he arrived. (which wasn't altogether
untrue...he just didn't leave alive.)

So the cops leave and Ben comes back with the sack in hand.
No luck. He decides that we're going to have to call in the help of
his family and has his sister fly down from Chicago. Once here we
show her the skin and tell her the story. The story spreads through
Ben's entire family and before I know it, they're all terrifed of me.
I tried to tell them that I didn't do it...that my friend did, but they
somehow don't believe the girl who has a sack of human skin in her closet.

And then I woke up.

Fucked up.

Well, I haven't slit my wrists open so you can cheer or cry as you see fit.

I'm feeling much better. The whole depressive episode sprang from some issues
that Benjamin and I are working out. We've had a very...interesting relationship.
Sometimes perfect...sometimes hell. I suppose it's like that with most people.

But a nice long heart to heart and a cry did wonders. Now I even feel hopeful. :)

Alright, nothing more to say, I guess. Just wanted the world to know I'm not dead. Not yet. :)

"It just takes some time, little girl you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything (everything) will be just fine, everything (everything) will be allright (alright)."

~ Jimmy Eat World from the song The Middle on their Bleed American CD

I am in desperate need of Prozac, Zoloft, or some friend action.

I have been so melancholy all freaking weekend. What the hell is wrong with me?
Isn’t the time for mental breakdowns over? I mean, I’m actually out of school now…shouldn’t I have had one while I was struggling to get through?

Maybe I was pushing and pushing and pushing so hard to finish that I just didn’t have time to feel anything. I think that’s true. Push it all away…worry about it tomorrow.
I should know that’s not healthy behavior, considering what B.A. the College of Liberal Arts awarded me.

But now I feel. And I feel…empty. All except for a dull ache in the place where my heart should be.

Well, at least I haven’t gotten to the point where I’ve stopped bathing. When that happens I give you all permission to douse me with Clorox and spray me down with the water hose.

Ben and I went to a carnival at St. Albans mall this evening.

We rode five rides in all and topped it off with some cotton candy. Poor Ben got a bit nauseous…I suppose his age is catching up with him at long last. But with all of the twisting of the Tornado and the G-force of the Hurricane and me slamming into him repeatedly on the Sizzler (a Scrambler rip-off), it’s truly no wonder that the poor guy got a little ill.

The Sizzler was our third ride and while zooming around and around and laughing and watching the multitude of flashing, brightly colored lights…I found my way back to a memory of me at about 6 or 7 years-old.

I was at a carnival with my Mom, my Grandma, my Uncle Roy, and my siblings. I had forever been “too little” to ride anything but at long last I was able to ride the tiny Scrambler!!! My brother rode it with me and I remember slinging around and laughing, and watching the lights. I don’t recall exactly what was going through my mind…only that I was blissful at that moment. That was the most exciting thing that had happened in my short life up to that point. It was so exhilarating and I felt so free. :) To be that innocent and carefree again.

After the ride, my Uncle Roy, played the dart game where you try to pop the balloons to win a prize for me. Uncle Roy was about 45 years old then…maybe 50…his hair was salt and pepper gray, his hairline was receding, and he wore thick rectangular glasses.
He is a Vietnam Veteran who is entirely too obsessed with the Rambo and Rocky movie series. And he only has three fingers on one hand. One of his favorite sayings is “I got three. How many you got?”

(He lost his fingers as a child. His older brother, Frank, was chopping wood and Roy kept sticking his hand out in front of the axe, daring Frank to cut him. Frank, who had a quick temper and had been fending off his pesky little brother for over an hour, finally lost his patience. He told Roy, “The next time you put your hand down there, I’m chopping anyway. I’ve to get this wood chopped and you’re in my way. I’m warning you, Roy. I’ll do it.” Roy didn’t think he would do it. And he was wrong.)

Anyway, I don’t know how long Roy stood there throwing darts or how much money he spent, but he finally won me a prize. And what a prize it was.

He won me a 6’0” Pink Panther stuffed animal. My mother nearly shit a brick. :)
I was so overwhelmed and I’m sure I was convinced that it was the best day in my life.

We stuffed the Panther in the trunk, piled in the car, and went home. I was so thrilled with my new toy and so thrilled with crazy Uncle Roy, God love him. :) Eventually I had to give the Pink Panther up. You must remember that I grew up in a trailer and the rooms in singlewide trailers are not very large. A life-size Pink Panther doll just gets in the way a lot. :) So I ended up giving it to one of my cousins.

May I never forget my first carnival ride and how my three-fingered Uncle won me a giant Pink Panther. May I never forget how wonderful cotton candy tastes.
May I never forget going to Beckley carnivals as a teenager, in hopes that I would meet a cute boy or two. May I never forget the magic of the carnival. :)

“Carnival dancer, magical time of youth
And as the day draws nigh
Dreams fill my heart
I'll sing while he plays his guitar
I'll sing as the night wakes the dawn
Will love come my way on this magical day?
And will hope stay in my heart?”

~ from “Carnival” on the Mission Impossible 2 Soundtrack

Well…what’s new in the life of Christina Louise Garris?

I finally received my diploma from Marshall today and it was a bit more emotional than I thought it would be. I knew I had graduated before…I knew it was real…but it didn’t seem real until I held my diploma in my hands and read it over to myself a couple of times. All the while smiling.

All I wanted to do was take it over to my brother’s house and show him and my mom.

(Spoken in the voice of a little girl) “Look at what I did Mommy!!! Look and be proud of me!!!”

And she was. She was already in bed when I got there, but she wasn’t asleep. I think she doesn’t sleep very well at night anymore…her knees and her back ache…my poor wonderful mother.

I walked in the room and whispered for fear of waking little Megan in the next room.

“Mom, I have something I want to show you.”
“What Chris?”

And as she laboriously sat up in bed, I flicked on the light switch and sat down beside her. She smiled and took it from my hands and said excitedly, “Your diploma!”
And as she opened the green bound diploma and read it, tiny tears welled up in the corner of her eyes. Well, you know things like that are a chain reaction. When your mother starts crying because she’s proud of you, you can’t help but cry too. And I did.

I hugged her until our brief bouts of tears dried up and we sat and talked for a bit. It reminded me of the talks that we would have while I was in high school, sitting on my bed each night, just before I would go to sleep. Back then I would talk to her about my current “love” or crush. I would ask her advice on friendship issues. And I would dream a lot about the future. I used to tell her what I wanted to do when I got out of high school…and about how much I wanted to go to college. She would always tell me that if I worked hard enough, I could do anything. Anything at all. “Just believe in yourself and work toward what you want, and it will be yours.”

I’m so lucky to have such a wonderful mother, who has done nothing but encourage me and show pride in me every step of the way. And I’m so lucky to have such a wonderful friend as Diana D. Garris.

"Think where man's glory most begins and ends,
And say my glory was I had such friends."
- William Yeats

I finally got the chance to spend some time with my family this past Sunday. And that means I got to visit with my adorable niece, Megan.
She will be a year old June 29th. One year. God, time just goes, doesn't it? Every time I see her she amazes me a little more.

Her eyes are so blue and beautiful. And she's finally growing a bit of hair, all of which is a dark blonde color. She's got four teeth now and honestly loves vanilla wafers, but she hates green beans. I was helping her mother feed her this weekend and she furiously rejected the green beans. So furiously, in fact, that they found their way all over her face and clothing, on to the floor, on to her mother, and on to me just a bit. :)

She actually understands the things that you say to her now. We were playing with her and her mother asked her to find Aunt Chris's belly...
she crawled over and pulled my shirt up a bit to reveal my belly button. And then proceeded to try to dig it out or rip it off, which tickled and hurt
simultaneously. A one year old child should not have such a strong grip. :)

Another game we play with her is hiding something under a pillow or blanket and letting her find it. My brother sat little Meg on his stomach and
hid his face with a couch pillow. We asked her, "Where's Daddy, Megan?" and she reached down and uncovered his face and then smiled
and laughed so beautifully. :) It was so cute. After that she started hiding his face with the pillow and finding him again...and we all got a laugh when
she was pressing the pillow down hard over his mouth with one hand pressing down on his throat. Megan was trying to kill Daddy. :) How sweet. :)

But truly, there is something so special...so precious about her and the relationship I have with her...and especially the relationship she has with her parents.
She knows without a doubt that they are hers. People who love her, people she loves. How can a one year old know this? I don't know. But I see evidence of it
whenever my brother comes home from work and she is so excited and wants to go straight to him. I see evidence of it when she wants someone to hold her and
she chooses one of her parents above anyone else. Some might say that its because they spend the most time with her, but that's not really true. My mother spends as much time as they do with her, while she watches her through the week. She just knows...it seems as though there's this strange bond of sorts. It's truly beautiful and baffling.

It makes me wish that I were in a psychological and monetary position in which I could have children. God save the world the day that I ever have children.
What little angel demons they will be!

On a side note, I truly hate being referred to as "beaver".

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
And their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tommorow, no tommorow

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
Mad World

Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
Made to feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
Mad World

~ "Mad World" by Tears for Fears

I met my boyfriend, Ben, on May 31, 1997 at a friend's high school graduation. June 1st was the 5-year anniversary of our first date. We had sex three times that first night. I had never done anything like that before. Actually, I had been a virgin until two weeks earlier.

The story goes like this. I was going through a religious crisis...questioning my faith for the first time...and I decided I didn't believe what I had been taught all those years. My virginity was the symbol of my purity and my faith. I had worked very hard to keep it so long, what with all the desires floating around in my lusty little brain and all the boys that had asked me to wrap my long legs around them. But I resisted for so long. Until I was eighteen years old. At this time, during my religious crisis, I finally decided that I was going to cast off the symbol of my faith. I wasn't going to let the fear of losing my virginity “keep me chained” any longer.

And so I met a guy. He really didn't have a personality. He was just kind of cute and he was nice. He was my chosen victim. I hung out with him for a month or so and then one night I decided I wanted to do it. It was time. God, was that the most awful experience of my life! I was so disappointed. Truly, I’ve received more pleasure out of masturbation that that poor sap was ever able to give me. The word that came to my mind while I was lying beneath him and he was going at it was "rutting". Rutting is what horses or cows or pigs do in the barnyard. That's what I felt like he was doing with me. After it was all over I thought to myself, "There has to be more to it than that!" And so a few nights later I tried it again. Still, I felt nothing. I remember getting up and putting on my clothes on that last night. I dressed slowly, the whole while just looking at him lying naked on the bed. I walked out into the living room and waited while he dressed. When he finally came out of his bedroom, I picked up my jacket and handbag and walked out to the porch. He followed. We stood there, looking at each other in silence for a moment. And in his eyes I saw…nothing. I smiled and hugged him and said, “Thanks.” He thanked me back. And then I said, “Well, this is it, then. I’m going. I won’t be back and I won’t call you again. You take care and have a nice life, okay?” He smiled and replied, “Okay, I will.” I walked to my car and drove home. I never saw him again.

So I spent two weeks trying to figure out if my actions had been the right ones. Was I fucking insane? Why did I lose my virginity to THAT guy of all the guys out there? Why that loser? And then I let it go. Why worry about it? I had had safe sex…it was over. Now I was free of the fear of losing my virginity. It was over.

Then I was simply out to have fun...and I guess that you could say that I did. :) Like I said, I met Ben two weeks after losing my virginity. I was over at my friend David’s house before we met up for our first date. I remember going into the bathroom and looking at myself in the eye in the mirror and saying, “Christina, you’re not going to have sex with this guy. You’re just going to get to know him. Only have sex with someone you love.” Like Alice wandering through her fucked up little Wonderland, I always give myself such good advice…but I never fucking follow it. We had sex on our first date and every meeting thereafter. And though the decision was pretty foolish…having sex with some guy I didn’t know at all…it was extremely fun. :)

Two weeks after that first date, after having hot, sweaty sex in the back of his old Thunderbird, Ben asked me to be his girlfriend. I thought, "Oh how cute!" and giggled and said yes. That was five years ago. Five years. Five years is a long time to do anything. A long, long time. :)

Cats and rabbits would live in fancy little houses.
They'd all wear waistcoats and trousers
In a world of my own.

~ Alice from Disney's Alice in Wonderland.

A friend of mine wrote in his online journal about how, while visiting with his old friends whom he hasn’t been around in a while, his behavior changed…and according to his perception, it changed for the worse. He feels that he regressed into a persona that he’s trying to leave behind.

That started me thinking. This is a very typical human behavior. I’ve done it, my boyfriend does it, and my friends do it. Most likely every human being on the face of this earth has altered his or her behavior due to the company that they’re sharing at any particular moment. So why do we do it?

It’s pretty simple, really, when you think about it. People want to be accepted and loved. They want to find a niche into which they fit to ensure their survival. If others accept them, they have a place, a meaning. They are given purpose and are defined by others perceptions of them.

So we meet people…we act a certain way with them…and let’s say we gain acceptance with them. Now we know that a certain behavior is acceptable and proper or impressive behavior with this certain group of people. So we’ll continue to act this way whenever we are with them.

Often, as in my friend’s case, as we grow up we decide to walk different paths and we move from home and our groups of friends. We’ll find new groups of friends and we’ll probably behave differently within these new groups. As we grow, we learn, and our behaviors change…become more mature. We try to improve ourselves…become better human beings. But when we step back into those old environments with old groups of friends, we will often find ourselves regressing back to behaving with them in the way we used to…we’ll leave the new facets of our personality at the doorstep. Why do we do this? Because we know that the old form of behavior is acceptable to the old group. We may think subconsciously that this behavior is what the group expects and if we don’t deliver, well perhaps we’ll no longer have acceptance. And so we fall into old patterns.

We’re afraid of bringing in the newer, more mature behaviors into a group of friends…especially a group of friends from high school…because these behaviors may make us more vulnerable. High school students, especially boys, will tend to raze each other…taunt each other as a form of camaraderie. When we grow older we may find that we’d like to express compassion to these old friends, but instead of doing that we find ourselves busting on them with some sarcastic humor. Instead of saying, “I understand…I care...I’m here for you” we say sarcastically, “Well if you weren’t such a dumb-fuck, you wouldn’t have this problem!” and then we laugh it off.

It’s difficult to integrate behaviors…very difficult…but it can be done. We just have to trust our friends enough to be more vulnerable in front of them. We have to trust them to accept our new persona. And being that they are your true friends, they will accept you for all that you have been, all that you are, and all that you will become.

Why? Because that’s the way love works.

Driving home yesterday from working out I saw the most glorious sunset. The sun was only partly visible over the tree-covered hills, a swelled orange-red orb that filled the sky with tones of pink. Soft, fading blue sliced by slivers of pink and, somehow, soft, lavender clouds. It was lovely. It was and then it was gone.

After the sunset I noticed the hills all around me seemed so lush and green and alive. The trees, they hugged the road, their broad arms making a canopy overhead, all along the drive home. I had my window down letting the wind make a tangled mess of my hair…and it reminded me of the summers I spent hanging out, just driving around with my best friend Nikki. We’d roll the windows down, put our sunglasses on, and just go. And then we'd drive home in the evenings from wherever we had been, tired and content....just feeling the evening coming on and knowing that tomorrow was another wonderful day filled with more wonderful things. I remember being so happy. So fucking carefree. It’s a nice memory. And it’s nice that I can still have those moments.

As the evening began to fade to dusk, I saw that the hills in the distance lose the lush green and wrap themselves in shades of blue. I turned the radio off and just listened to the wind rushing by…and the trees. When the wind blows through the trees you can hear them. Leaves rustling, branches bending and swaying. Sometimes I like to think that they have a language all their own…the sounds, the movements, are all part of some communication long forgotten or never known by humankind.

Truly I sometimes wonder what they would have to tell us if they could speak or if we could understand. Would they impart the knowledge they have learned in their time? Would they tell us of the changes of the landscape? Of the floods, the rains, the snows? Of the autumns, the silent winters, and then describe their joyous rebirth in the springs and reign in the summers? Would they be able to recount human history? Human history told to them by the older trees who have returned to the Earth and are no more?

Or would there be something deeper? Some philosophy and secret to life…something known only by those things deeply connected with the earth, which would help us to understand how to be at peace? How to find happiness and balance?

But maybe they already do that. And we just have to learn to stop and listen.

As I pulled into my driveway I picked up the scent of the honeysuckle that grows down over the hill, right next to the railroad tracks. The sky was, in one direction, golden and glowing above the dark green-blue hills, and in the other direction, a deep, evening blue. I breathed deeply, taking in the honeysuckle and the smell of the green, lush twilight. The wind had picked up and I could hear the gentle whispering of the leaves. For that moment I was content and wanted nothing more than to be there as I was.

I just finished watching Vanilla Sky with my boyfriend, Ben.

The thing I liked most about the movie was the line:

“Every passing moment is another chance to turn it all around.”

Mistakes that I have made in my past plague me every day. I used to look in the mirror every morning with self-loathing…it became a ritual to cry in the shower…and sometimes I would cry myself to sleep in an empty bed while Ben was in the other room EverQuesting. It’s not so bad now. I am able to smile at that Alice in the Looking Glass and to love her again. (Though, sometimes I still cry in the shower.) These pains are part of the consequences that I own for my past actions. My little demons.

At one point, I think I sought to make up for the suffering that I had inflicted on Ben and others by causing myself pain. I found that no one can tear apart your soul like you can do to yourself. You can be your greatest enemy. Unfortunately my plan didn’t quite have the desired effect. Oh, I suffered…but damage one sustains emotionally does not easily fade. I’m still waiting for these wounds to heal. In the end I’ve prolonged Ben’s pain by prolonging my own.

But it’s not over. Every moment is another chance to turn it all around. God those words shot through me when I heard them. They MEAN something to me. They give me hope. And make me stronger.

To turn it all around and take the chance in living…whatever the outcome may be.

To honesty. To truth. To happiness. To life.

Well…I’m back from vacation. It was a blast, but I’m tired. The last night disintegrated into a huge farting contest between the boys. So disgusting, yet so hilarious. My friends may be fuck-nuts but they’re my friends, and I love them just the same. :)

Details will come later. Until then…

“Suddenly I’m on the street
Seven years disappears below my feet
Been breaking down
Do you want me now?
Do you want me now?”

~ Freddy Johnson from “Bad Reputation”

I go on vacation this Friday, May 17. After all of this pushing toward graduation, I’m so ready to have some pure, unadulterated fun. Fun with friends. What could be sweeter? Here’s to nights and days of laughter, good food, good drinks, and better wit and conversation. I am looking forward to it.

We’re always pushing toward something in life. Always some place we should be…something we have to achieve. And having goals is wonderful…burning with that desire to create, to do something with your life, is part of what gives our lives meaning. However, society has determined that there are only certain goals that are acceptable. And that there are certain paths we must follow to reach those goals. Those that step “outside of the box” are looked upon as aberrations in the pattern. They are regarded suspiciously and questioned. Only when they achieve something great are they applauded. Funny.

“All great people, before they were great, began with a dream.” My sister wrote that in my high school graduation card. Your life is a product of chance and the choices you make in those crossroads that life throws your way. I am at such a crossroads and I’ve come to a full stop in my pondering direction.

After my little vacation, I will start to seriously try and make a decision about the future direction of my life over the next year or so. Perhaps my friends will be able to provide some insight into my situation. And perhaps green and blue chickens will fall from the sky for 5 days and nights over the entire state of Nebraska.

:) Anyway, I am looking forward to it. :)

On Decisions, Suffering, and Burning

I had my last final on Thursday…I studied all evening the night before and was still convinced that I was going to fail. In truth, the only way I could get an A on that final was to have studied the entire whole week before and then some. So my C that I’m sure I made will suffice.

I probably won’t be an honor graduate, but I’m a graduate. As of today, I am a college graduate. Wooohoooo!!! 5 long and simultaneously short years of my life gone. I was 19 years old when all of this madness began…I am now 23. Marshall University’s commencement exercises started this morning at 9AM. I chose not to walk ‘cause I didn’t know anyone I was graduating with (All of my friends left a year or so before me.) So I was still in bed dreaming.

And speaking of dreaming, I had an odd dream this morning just before I woke.
Here it goes: My parents were moving into a house in Beckley, WV. (They currently live 7 miles outside that tiny city.) I lived with them and for some reason I was convinced that I was going to have to go to Woodrow Wilson High School and I was a little upset. (After all, I had attended Liberty High my entire high school career and didn’t want to leave my friends.) I confronted my mom about it and she told me, with a puzzled expression, that I didn’t have to worry about going to Woodrow Wilson. I was relieved. So I can just drive everyday to Liberty, then? Nope, she said, with a look of worry now growing on her face. At that point I was confused and my dad started looking at me like I had gone batty. Then I realized that I had graduated high school in 1996. And then I realized that I was a college graduate. And I woke up.

Weird dream. Definitely some graduation anxiety in there somewhere, me thinks.

I woke about 10Am this morning and got a huge glass of water to get rid of that dry, yucky morning mouth. And then I plodded into the computer room and worked on reconciling the checkbook all morning. After projecting how far into debt with me Ben would run at the end of this month and how long it would take him to recover, and finding the answer not as bad as I had anticipated, I was content.

I found that I have $1900 in savings. Not bad. So in spite of his bleeding over, we’ll be okay. And he’ll be a lifeguard when we return from our little vacation avec nos amis. And I suppose I’ll still be working as a legal clerk/paralegal for Ms. Hazel A. Straub, Esquire.

My big decision now is, as I have been ranting about for the last month or so, figuring out when, where, and how I’m going to grad school. I know I need my M.A. in Psych to get licensed, which is the eventual goal. The longer I wait to go, the harder it’s going to be, or so “they” say. I don’t know if what the elusive “they” say is always quite true. I was forced to take a year off after high school before I jumped into my undergraduate, but I was all eagerness to go when I eventually had the chance.

(My dad was a coal miner and he lost his job right before I graduated. I was terrified of loans and, honestly, my parent’s needed my help. My brother and sister had financial responsibilities of their own that they were juggling. And so it was me. I didn’t and don’t mind. They’ve given me so much, emotionally and materially. I want to give them everything they could ever want. Not in any attempt to repay them, because that could never be done, but in an attempt to show them just how much they mean to me. To show them how much I love them and what wonderful parents I think they are. )

How’s that for digression. Anyway, I don’t think waiting a year will harm my desire to pursue my M.A. And I have to consider the Ben factor. He has decided that he will finish college at Marshall next year with a Reagents degree. Smart move, in my opinion. It will take him two semesters to finish in this way. That’s a semester less than if he continued with his Information Systems degree or any other specialized degree. Very smart.

The bad news is that this limits my options. I can’t exactly pick up and move to Lexington to go to University of Kentucky without him. But I don’t really want to go through Marshall’s Master’s program for the simple reason that half of the curriculum would be repeat classes for me. You see, Marshall is painfully understaffed…I understand that this is due to poor allocation of financial resources. We have a MAC championship football team but our Master’s psychology program sucks. Half of the classes for my graduate degree, I’ve already taken…so I would have to sit through the lectures again with the undergraduates. I suppose the additional paper that the graduate students are required to write is supposed to provide them with that extra bit of knowledge. I suppose that’s what makes the class a grad level class…a fucking paper. Bullshit!

The pros to attending Marshall are…well…it’s cheaper and close to home and family. I’m already established with a good job and a kick ass apartment. At UK, I would have to get a teaching assistanceship or a research assistanceship, and those aren’t given to just anyone. They actually have to want you to be in their program. I have no idea if they would want me. And if I begin at Marshall, I have to finish there. You can’t really transfer from one grad program to another and keep the same status. If I transferred I would be a newbie all over again.

Decisions, decisions. Those Buddhists know what they’re talking about…life is suffering. They say that to free myself of suffering I must “abandon desire and selfishness”. Hmmmm…so I should not want to make $80, 000 a year? Well, if I didn’t want to make that much money, then I wouldn’t need to get my M.A. degree. And if I don’t pursue this degree then I won’t be faced with this decision. And if I’m not faced with this decision and I won’t be suffering. It makes sense. I suppose I could just sit on my tushy all day and play computer games.

But there’s a problem with this. I could never be content like that. I have desire constantly rushing through my blood, burning in my mind, and pulsing in my chest. A desire to live life to the fullest…to truly live. A desire to achieve all of my goals and dreams. To touch and feel and love and be burning bright and alive. I can’t rid myself of this desire. To do so would be to give up on life.

Suffering, like life, is temporary. When I die, I won’t suffer any longer. So if suffering is to be my lot, if that is what life is, I will take it. Because I have endured a bit of suffering in the past, but I have also felt much joy and touched much beauty.

Here’s to burning.

“And as the walls come down and
As I look in your eyes
My fear begins to fade
Recalling all of the times
I have died
and will die.
It's all right.
I don't mind.”

~ Tool from “H.” on the Aenima Album

I am lonely tonight.

I had my first final today...t'was easy as pie. I came home from school and slept
and slept...and I wasn't really that tired. I think that maybe I was just avoiding
studying for my english final. My final final...which is on Thursday. My terrible
thought concerning not passing that class has been dispelled. My english
professor took the class (all 5 of us) out to lunch at Calamity Cafe last Thursday
and he assured us that a C is the lowest grade anyone will receive in the course.
So now I find myself very reluctant to study...knowing that I'll pass the class if I
put no effort into this exam. Pathetic, isn't it?

See the thing is that I'm so tired inside. So mentally and emotionally
drained. Life over the past 5 years has been eventful and exhausting, to say
the least. I just want to lay myself down and dream and dream and dream until
my mind is clear. I want to sink into that sweet, seductive oblivion and wake
knowing where I'm going. No more half truths or confused answers. Clarity
of vision. Clarity of purpose.

I have let life beat me down to this...shell. It's time to rebuild...time for a new
beginning...time to start over.

Maybe I won't feel lonely forever.

"Why can't we not be sober?
I just want to start this over.
Why can't we drink forever.
I just want to start things over."

~Tool from Sober on the album Undertow

god I love to turn my little blue world upside down
god I love to turn my little blue world upside down
inside my head the noise
chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter
you see I'm afraid I'll always be
still coming out of my mother upside down

Tori Amos from "Upside Down" on the Bliss single

My first final is tomorrow. I’m one step closer to graduation and my future is a blur.

Who are you today, Christina? What do you want? Where do you want to be?

Is that your skin you’re hiding in?
Or something you found lying there on the ground?
Are those your eyes, the color of ice?
And the hardness of steel is just what is real.
On the Inside

Is that your tongue that you’re biting on?
The words you might say, they could get in your way.
Well, Is that your heart, breaking apart?
What we try not to feel only time can reveal
On the Inside

After reading back through this I realized that its written, sometimes in past tense, sometimes in present. But I'm too fucking tired to correct it now. So just try to ignore the tenses...focus on the ever exciting action.

Alice's Adventures in White Water Rafting Land

Today has been a day of freezing and exhaustion.

Here I sit in my cuddly purple bathrobe, finally warm, after a nice long hot shower…and I’m wondering, “How did all of this insanity begin?”

Well it all started on Thursday. I received a call at about 11am from Ben asking me if I wanted to go white water rafting on the New River with our friends Shawn and Burnsy on the following morning. I was instantly terror-stricken.

You see, I grew up in the Beckley area of West Virginia…very near to the wondrous white water rafting tours…and I had never once been. Being so close, one might imagine that I would go all of the time…but no. I had never even wanted to go and there was good reason for that, I assure you. My brother worked as a white water rafting guide on the New and Gaulley Rivers and occasionally had a terror-inducing story to tell about things that had gone wrong during one of his or his co-workers trips down the rivers. In short, I knew what could go wrong…I knew the danger and risk involved…and it was never something that I’ve been willing to do. Until Thursday, that is.

With great reservations, I agreed to go along on the tri p with the boys. I simply repeated over and over that I didn’t want to die now that I was so close to graduating college. My friend Shawn promised that if I died, he would write a poem about it. Although amusing, this thought was not very comforting.

And although I want to finish writing this…I’m too fucking tired. I just dozed off typing at my computer…need sleep. I will finish tomorrow. Night. (saved at 11PM 5/4/02)

Okay where was I? (5/5/02)

The plan was that Shawn would drive down from Columbus on Friday evening, take Mami (the Japanese girl) out to see Spiderman, and then would drive to our apartment, most likely arriving at about 1AM. From there we would go to Burnsy’s house in Hinton…arriving at about 3:30AM. Then we would crash and get up at 6AM so that we could drive to Oak Hill to the whitewater rafting company. Fun schedule, to say the least.

I came home from work Friday and went to bed, hoping to get some sleep so that I wouldn’t be so miserable on the drive to Hinton. Well I slept for a couple of hours, but was awakened at about 10:30 by the gentle “ding dong” of the doorbell. I throw my robe on, stumble down the hall and up the stairs, and open the door to find my friend and former apartment-mate Ken waiting there. Of course, I’m happy to see him and greet him with a hug and then proceed to pressure him into going with us on the white water rafting trip. The poor bastard caved in within 30 minutes. The only problem was that he didn’t have any clothes clean to change into the next day, so I throw his clothes in the washer and we head out to WALMART to buy some water “swimmy” shoes to wear in the raft. We came back and got all of our stuff together and Ken’s clothes dried just as Shawn arrived, very tired, on our doorstep.

It was decided that I would drive since we were going to be driving through my home area, and so we all piled in the car and started this nutzy trip. The first sign of trouble was when, just past Beckley, we took the wrong split in the road and drove 7 miles in the wrong direction. I ended up cutting across the parking area at the tollbooth and driving back and taking the correct road. After that we found Burnsy’s house with relatively little trouble, but that little error had put us 30 minutes behind schedule. So it was 4AM when we finally arrived, very exhausted, on his doorstep.

Considering the time, the boys declared that they weren’t going to go to sleep…that it would just make them more tired the next day…so they decided to play a bit on the X-Box. I thought they were fucking nutz and proceeded to stretch out on the couch with a pillow and my soft, wooly plaid blanket.

I awoke after two hours to a lick on the mouth from one of the two hulking beasts that Burns calls his dogs. I wipe my face and sit up very confused…mumbling incoherently. Burns shoves a Xenadrine, which is essentially an upper that is legally sold at GNC, in my face and tells me to take it. I swallow that bad boy and within minutes I’m awake and ready to go! Everyone else popped their pills…none of us even bothered with showering. What was the point? We would be drenched in nasty river water soon enough.

We stepped outside and that’s when the coldness began. It must have been about 40 degrees…no streak of sunlight to be found anywhere. “Lovely”, I thought, “All it needs to do now is start raining.”

After meeting up with a couple of Burnsy’s friends, we drove the hour to the white water rafting area. I paid my fees and then went to get my wet suit. There working the wet suit counter was a 12 to 13 year old girl…I knew instantly that she was going to give me the wrong size. “What size to you think you’ll need?” says the little girl. “Well, I don’t know really. I’ve never done this before. Maybe a large? I’m 6’1” so it needs to be long enough.” She hands me a medium, which is obviously too short, and tells me to try it on and if it doesn’t fit to come back for a larger size. I tried to tell her that I knew it wouldn’t fit and to give me a large but she just repeated herself. So I go back and try fitting into that ridiculously short wet suit. Of course, I can’t get it up onto my shoulders…so I go back and get a larger size.

Once suited up all those going on the rafting trip gathered in the well…gathering area. There were about 40 people and the majority of those were men. They proceeded to give us a schpeal about what we would be doing, told us we must listen to our guides at all costs…our lives depended on it, and told us that there was a chance that we might die or become seriously injured during our white water rafting experience. Then they passed out the consent forms and asked us to sign our lives away. That’s always a pleasant experience. Anyway, I didn’t even read it…just glanced through and saw the phrase “hold harmless for death, dismemberment, etc.”… so I stopped reading and just signed.

So we got our life jackets and headgear and hopped on a bus that drove us to Prince, WV, where our guides and the boats were waiting on us. Our guide was named Clay and was sometimes called Crazy Clay. At this point I was a bit wary of Crazy Clay…I didn’t feel like being crazy and dying a tragic death without ever having truly lived.

So he explains how to row, what to do if we fall out of the raft, and what to avoid in the river. We lift the raft and carry it over to the water and hop in and we’re on our way.

And now it starts getting cold. I was a bit chilly while changing into the wet suit in the unheated dressing rooms but had warmed up considerably during the bus ride. But in order to get in the boat we, of course, have to step in the icy water. (At this point it had only warmed up to about 46 degrees.) Not only did we step in icy water, but find that there is a nice puddle of water in the boat where we must lodge our feet in order to keep from falling out. So I spent all day with my feet in fucking freezing water. Nice.

The river was up about 15 feet so the rapids weren’t really all that exciting. We probably had about two that were fun at all. For the most part the trip was a lot of rowing and shivering. Once we got wet after the first rapids the wind became my worst enemy. It was so fucking cold!!!! My hands turned a nice red color and by the end of the day it seemed as if they might be permanently molded around my oar. And it rained almost the whole damn time that we were on the river. So the cold sucked. The rain sucked. The wind sucked. And the rapids sucked. But in a way I was a bit relieved that the rapids weren’t that intense. This was my first time and I was terrified of falling out, panicking, and possibly drowning. Not exactly my preferred way to bite it.

Anyway another annoyance was the idiot that was rowing in front of me. He was a friend of Burns’s from work named Graham. Graham seemed like a nice enough guy…but he put absolutely nothing into rowing and was constantly out of time. See the idea is that the first two people in the raft watch each other and try to coordinate their rowing. Then the person behind each one of them is supposed to watch the lead person on their side and try to row together with them. And the person behind that second person is supposed to watch and row in time with them and so on all the way to the back. The guide sits in the back and steers. Well, Ben sat in the front on the left side and Burns sat in the front on the right. They were pretty much rowing together. Graham sat behind Ben and I was behind Graham and then Ken was behind me. Well this guy Graham kept getting out of time…Ben later complained that he kept hitting oars with him and fucking him up. I was so frustrated. He made it impossible for me to keep a steady rowing rhythm because whenever I was coordinated with Ben, he would fuck up and get his oar in my way, so I’d have to stop and get in time with him. Fucking loser! I’m a girl and I can do this shit better than that! And the sad thing is that he had been rafting a time or two before! Anyway, Ken thought that I was the one screwing up…he said he kept wondering, “Is Christina really that shitty? That uncoordinated?” Thank God I’m not. I was simply being hindered and frustrated by that fuck nut sitting ahead of me. I swear the next time I go, I’m going to sit just behind the lead. That way, if there are any shitty rowers they’ll all be behind me and won’t fuck with my rowing contribution.

Our 20-mile trip down the river was over by 3PM and I believe we were all thankful to get out of the water. Some people from the company had some hot apple cider waiting on us when we got out of the raft…I’ve never in my life been more thrilled to see a hot beverage. I stood shivering in the rain holding it in my hands. It was still too hot to take a drink.

We all, with our hot apple cider, piled on the bus and the bus windows steamed up. The poor driver had to keep wiping the window down with a cloth so that he could see to drive. I was jolted and my cider spilled onto my hands and lap with every bump and hole the bus wheels found. The bumps and holes were many. By the time the cider was cool enough to drink, I had spilled half of it on myself.

That warmed me a bit, but then we had to get off of the nice cozy bus and go back out into the cold. So we went to Shawn’s car, got our dry clothing, and stripped out of those dripping wet wetsuits. I put on three layers of shirts, but forgot my socks…and I was wearing only sandals.

By 3:30PM we all met in the gathering hall and took advantage of either the free Natural Light or the free hot chocolate. I opted for hot chocolate. We once again jumped in the car and proceeded to drive back to Hinton to drop Burns off and get our stuff. Burns, being the unfortunate bitch of the group, drove. The trip was an extremely sleepy one, each one of us dreading the thought that we might be the one who would have to drive from Hinton back to Charleston. The highlight of this journey was singing along with the songs “Uncle Fucker” and “Bitch” from the South Park the Movie Soundtrack, and “Under the Sea” from the Little Mermaid Soundtrack.

We got to Burns’s house at about 4:30PM and he found that he didn’t have his keys on him. He checked the car and his bag to no avail and eventually learned that he had somehow left them in Graham’s truck. So his friend Greg drives him back to Shady Spring to pick up the keys, while Ken, Shawn, Ben, Crystal (Burns’s woman), and I sit on the tiny covered porch cold and miserable. We tried opening both the front and back doors by the old credit card method, but that didn’t work. Finally Ken suggests that I try to reach through the doggy door and see if I can reach the lock since I have monkey arms.

The ground was wet so I just crouch down and I can’t do it. We go back around to the front porch and wait. Then Crystal goes to the back door to try something…Ken follows…and I decide to go check out what they’re doing. Activity was attractive…I was hoping it would keep me warm. Crystal lays down one of the towels she has and suggests that I lay on my back and try to reach the lock through the doggy door that way. And it worked.

We got in the house and flopped down on the couches and buried ourselves in warm blankets, waiting for Burnsy to arrive. He gets there before we’ve barely had a chance to warm up and we say goodbye, gather our things and leave. Shawn, God bless his black heart, decided to drive. We all wanted dinner and I voted for Pizzeria Uno. No one else having any strong opinions at this point, agreed. We got there and had to wait 30 minutes to get a table. We were waiting near the door and the slightest hint of the cold air would set us to shivering. Mentally everyone was drained…physically everyone was drained. My muscles hurt from intense usage and my bones seemed to ache from the cold. Also I had those nasty achy pains that one experiences from lack of sleep. It was lovely.

One good thing I can say about that day ending was that the food was good. So after we ate we dropped Ken off at his parent’s house, and headed back to our apartment. Shawn crashed on the couch and Ben hopped in bed. I called my folks to let them know that I had survived the New River and then took a nice, long, hot shower. I turned the water on and sat down in the tub and just let it work it’s healing magic.

I got out of the shower and decided that I must record the events and sensations while they were still fresh in my mind. But as you can tell, I didn’t make it very far before my exhaustion took over. I slept like a baby, and I still needed more sleep when I woke this morning. And every muscle in my body is sore from the exertion…It feels good.

I have been white water rafting. I have survived a very cold, but mild New River. I can’t wait to go again in August. WHEN IT’S FUCKING WARM!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, I’ve missed this exercise soreness…I used to have it all of the time when I was in high school…before the time consuming things called college and love relationship entered my life. Honestly, I should’ve could’ve worked out in the last five years…I did for a period of 2 months (pathetic)…but I felt too emotionally exhausted. (If that makes any sense.) Depression makes you tired…makes you want to sleep. And when you give all the energy you’ve got to keeping your job and keeping your GPA at an acceptable level…well…let’s just say I didn’t have anything else to give. But I’ve decided that I’m going to join a local gym now. I need to shed 30lbs to get back my high school figure…20 to get back my figure from freshman year of college. It should only take me, what, 3 or 4 months? Maybe 5? I’m starting on that as soon as I kick ass on my finals this coming week. Wish me luck!

Tonight has been a night for 80’s music and memories of my childhood.

In particular I’ve been thinking of (and eventually downloading and listening to) those 80’s love songs that I used to hear on the radio as I was falling asleep every night during my childhood. Starting at about 8 years old, I’d turn the radio on very softly…so that I could just barely hear it…and crawl into bed. I’d lay there thinking about the day that had been and the day that was coming. Thinking about the future and wondering what it would all be like. What would my best friend Michelle be like by the time we were in high school? Graduating? What would I be like? And what about when we were all grown up? The thought never crossed my mind that we wouldn’t be friends in about 7 years time due to her jealousy over me spending time with other friends while she was off fucking her boyfriend of the moment. The thought never crossed my mind that we would no longer be valid parts of each other’s lives in 15 years.

What I did think about was how we’d both find our “true” loves, get married, have kids, and live near one another so that our children could be friends too. Seems silly? No. It simply seems innocent and hopeful to me. But even at that young age…as I listened to those songs…I would feel an ache deep in my chest. A longing for love, if you will. And perhaps a faint knowledge of all of the hurting that goes along with loving. How we hurt from want of it and when we find it, how so much can go wrong with it to rip us to shreds inside.

But when I hear a few certain songs, I’m taken back to this time in my childhood. I can envision my darkened bedroom, moonlight spilling in through the window illuminating my stuffed animals lined neatly in a row at the bottom of my bed, the white closet doors that were always slightly ajar because they we’re always coming off track, and the little black Sony radio that sat on the floor to the right of my bed. When I hear them, I can feel that longing…and that hopefulness.

I wanted someone someday to tell me, like Chris Deburgh in Lady in Red that “I have never had such a feeling…Such a feeling of complete and utter love as I do tonight”.

I wanted to be with a lover…to live the words of Hands to Heaven.
“Tonight, I need your sweet caress
Hold me in the darkness
Tonight, you calm my restlessness
You relieve my sadness”

And finally have someone say to me, like Bryan Adams in Heaven, “Baby you're all that I want…When you're lyin' here in my arms…I'm findin' it hard to believe…We're in heaven…And love is all that I need…And I found in there in your heart…It isn’t too hard to see…We’re in Heaven”.

I have been a lover and had romantic moments. I have been told that I’m all that he wants and needs. I have been told that he loves me completely and utterly.
And it’s not over.

Tonight, I go to my bed in the afterglow of those emotionally charged 80’s love songs, thinking of the future. What will I be like in 5 years? In 10? 20? What will I become in my career? As a person? What will he become? And what will become of us?

I feel a longing and a hopefulness tonight.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll look back in 20 years after hearing Heaven and smile.

Sleep tight.