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.

There are moments when things seem so unreal. (It sometimes comes in the night.)
I feel so detached.
Thoughts rush so fast.
I am weak…so dizzy…sick to my stomach.

I want to scream. And shiver.
(It makes me feel crazy. But I will not be crazy.)
I want to flail my arms wildly against these images that scream through my mind.
But I know it’s of no use.

The sickness only fades when I close my eyes and breathe slowly and deliberately.
Forcing myself to behold the darkness behind my lids.
Embracing nothing.

And nothing of you.

A Terrible Thought

So I’ve been working on the last assignment for my English class all evening…the Practical Criticism. Loads of excitement…I’m just bursting with joy…can’t you feel my enthusiasm? Anyway, I should be able to finish it up tomorrow, so that only leaves me with 3 and ½ weeks of reading to cram into a week and a few days. Not too shabby.

I should complete my coursework with relatively good grades, however a nasty little fear slinked into my mind today…I’m thinking that my professor may fail me. You see on his syllabus under his attendance policy he says,

“More than 4 unexcused absences will be terms for failure in the course.”

I’ve missed 6 days total and none of them were truly excused. I was sick a couple of days, had car troubles a couple of days, and was just fucking lazy a few. So now I’m wondering if all of this final effort will be for nothing? Surely he would tell me if he planned on failing me for those reasons, right? And I’m not the only person in the class that has missed that frequently, although I don’t know if their absences were excused or not. The class only has five people in it…would he fail one of the five who had the balls to complete the course? (7 people dropped after the first week…they were a wee bit intimidated.) Plus, I’ve gotten A’s on every assignment I’ve turned in but one, and on that one I got a B. So will he truly fail me? Would he be such an ass as to fail me and delay my graduation? I would be so fucking pissed and I’d fight tooth and nail to reverse his decision. I know its not English department policy or the College of Liberal Art’s policy.

Perhaps I'm just worrying a bit too much. Expecting something to go wrong now that I'm this close. I'll go to bed and maybe I'll forget about it. Maybe.

"A terrible thought has moved into my mind
Like an unwanted room-mate drunk on wine
It feeds on my happiness won't pay the rent
I must take proper measures to evict it"
~"Terrible Thought" by Poe from her Haunted CD

Well…here I am. It’s 4 in the morning and I really should be in bed but I am sitting in front of my computer…thinking of nothing in particular.

I’ve been playing The Sims all evening. I decided that it would be fun to make my friends and myself and have us all interact. It has proven humorous but it’s a huge waste of my time. I really should be reading and studying for my English final…doing my last English assignment.

Should, should, should. All of the things we should do. All of the things we should say.
Sometimes it seems like too much of a burden to shoulder. It would be so much easier to not care. To crawl inside yourself and just disappear.

Yeah. I’m going to bed now. Night.

Buttered Flies

Well kids, I finally finished my senior psychology project. I’m so relieved! Doing the research itself wasn’t really that bad…it was the idea of the required presentation that really racked my nerves.

You see…I was required to present the findings of my study at a 2-hour poster session at the College of Liberal Arts Conference on April 16, 2002. For those of you who don’t know, during a poster session, you set up a pretty poster with your data plastered on it and professors and other members of academia walk around looking at your posters, quizzing you, trying to find flaws in your work, and basically taking whatever chance they can to ridicule you. Needless to say, I was a wee bit nervous. My only hope was that I would not come off looking like a total fool.

I was scheduled to being my session at 2:15 PM, so with little fear sprites using my intestines as a jump rope, I made my way to the 3rd floor of the Drinko Library. On arrival I found my professor and other classmates just sitting around talking. We waited a few minutes and then the professor says, “Okay everyone, take you places next to your posters.” I reluctantly walk to my poster and wait…. and wait…and so far no one has arrived to quiz us about our research. After about 15 minutes, I started to mingle with my classmates and wonder if anyone else was going to show. After 30 minutes had passed I had taken a seat in one of those big, blue plush library chairs. Eventually everyone sat down and we decided that no one was going to show. And no one did!!! You can’t exactly present if you don’t have an audience!! I was so thrilled and relieved. I spent the rest of the time sitting and talking with Dr. LeGrow about the glory of the 80’s hair bands. I learned that his favorite bands are Styx, REO Speedwagon, and Journey and I preached the virtues of Tori Amos, U2, Led Zeppelin, and The Beatles.

The next slightly anxiety inducing situation was this past Thursday. I had to do a little 2-minute presentation in my (waste of a class) Integrated Science class. See…the thing is I hate pointless public speaking. Now if I actually have something to say…something I care enough about to voice my views or if its something I must do for work, it’s not a problem. But if I have to present something I really don’t give a fuck about, well, I hate it. That’s simply talking just to please others and I really hate to do anything simply to please others.

Anyway, I had a few buttered flies buzzing around in my belly yesterday evening, but then that was over. The only things I have left are finals and an English assignment. And then I get my $35, 000 piece of paper. My diploma. A piece of paper that’s not really good for anything but to say that, yes, I can put up with a lot of shit…yes, I can do what I’m told…yes, I can meet requirements in a course therefore I should be able to meet the requirements in a normal job.

So now the question that remains is do I want to go to grad school? Yes. Do I want to go to grad school now? I don’t know. Where do I want to go to grad school? Some place with a good program where I’ll actually learn some shit. Maybe even get experience in the field of psychology. Wouldn’t that be nifty?

In two weeks, on May 11th, I start the next phase of my life. Here’s to not making poor choices and fucking up my future. I’ll do my best with what I’ve got.

“He says I do what I can
I live for the moment
And that’s who I am
Yeah that’s who I am
And isn’t it good?
If we could freeze moments in time
We all would
But I do what I can”

~ Sheryl Crow from “We Do What We Can” on the Tuesday Night Music Club CD

I'm rather startled by the nothingness that yawns ahead of me.

Because when roses die, all you've got left is a bunch of stinking, rotting vegetation.

And my tears are all I have to hold to
But you don't care
My tears, they never ever fade away
But you don't care

Alone

I miss my friends!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I miss having friends nearby that you can just call up and say, "Hey, wanna go out to eat and then to a movie?" And then they come over and it takes
you about an hour to figure out what movie you're going to see. Then you decide that you're going to go out to eat first...so you pile in the car and start
driving, but don't know where you're driving to 'cause no one can decide on where to eat. :) As annoying as this whole process can be, it is also
wonderful and fun. I miss you guys!!!!!

My Buddha is too far away! And my beloved ex-apartmentmate has been sucked into lonley Lexington land! And Paddy is in the Florida sun! And the Psycho with the gun is in the city with the Needle thingy! *sigh* Too far and too lonley on a Saturday morning.

Everyone is supposed to move to a central location in Appalachia later this year. Pat wants us all to come to Florida. (Which, I must say, sounds rather tempting. I love soakin' up the sun.) I still have no idea what I'm going to do after graduation. Grad school? Just work and learn how to play guitar and piano and then grad school?
Je ne se pas! I don't know!

A friend was meditating on the question of procreation, genetics, and love. This is my response.

She had alot to say...she had alot of nothing to say.

Genetics and procreation

We tend to look for a mate that is healthy and physically fit because this is what society tells us we should consider attractive. Physically fit people are perceived in our culture as being more successful, wealthier, happier, and more likely to survive. However, this has not always the case. There was a period in history when the “Rubenesque” full-figured women and men were considered most attractive. At that time, a full-figure meant that you were successful, wealthy, and well fed and you had a high survival rate. If you were thin or very physically fit, you were most likely living in poverty…a member of the lowly peasant class with a short life span and a low survival rate.

Though what society holds to be attractive has changed due to changes in technology, government, etc., the underlying driving goal of coupling with a successful mate, one that will survive and thereby ensure the survival of your offspring, has not changed. We want our genes to survive, pure and simple.

So we want our genes to survive…we want happy, healthy children…but to enter into a relationship with someone just on the basis that they are good breeding material? That’s crazy and very cold. It may increase chances of survival and ensure good physical health, but it would likely be damaging to the child psychologically and emotionally. The child would perceive the distance between their parents…and though the parents may love the kid very much it is still important that a loving relationship between the parents is displayed for the child so he/she can learn what a functional, healthy love relationship is like. On the off chance that you’re lucky enough to find someone who is perfect breeding stock and with whom you can fall in love, then great! You’ll have everything you need to make the healthiest child possible! This, however, isn’t terribly likely.

I don’t really know anyone who has a totally healthy family history. I know my family has been far from healthy. One grandfather died of cancer, an uncle died of complications with diabetes, and I’ve had 2 uncles undergo open-heart surgery and one die from a heart attack. Another grandfather was an alcoholic and died of a heart attack. My mother and father both have high blood pressure, one grandmother died from congestive heart failure and complications with diabetes, another grandmother died of colon cancer. No one except for my brother has good eyesight in my family. One grandmother lost her eyesight at the age of 64. And I’m the only one in my immediate family that had naturally straight teeth.

But I would hate to think that my poor eyesight and all these complications in the health of my family members would cause someone not to want to produce a child with me. Health is very important, however it does not take perfect health to produce a functional, happy human being. My family members, in spite of their health problems lived happy and fairly fulfilled lives.

When you fall in love with someone and learn that they are not perfectly healthy…that their family has a poor health history…it really shouldn’t matter. If you love them and want to create a little one to give your love to…an extension…a continuation of you and your love, then do so. After all, this isn’t fucking Gattica.

If my parents had taken the time to think logically about procreation and considered the poor health of their families in their decision, they probably wouldn’t have had my siblings or me. I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to live and know the joys I’ve known.

So yeah, you do say who gives a fuck and take the chance because you love that person.
But by doing this you are not neglecting the happiness of the child. A physically healthy child is not necessarily a happy child. If a kid doesn’t have the right secure, loving environment he/she won’t be happy. That secure environment is present when the child’s parents love each other and both are present in the child’s life.

We must not forget that the body and mind are closely tied together…if we are psychologically unhealthy this can decrease our physical health and vice versa. So really we can only hope that the child we produce is healthy in every way…we must do all that we can to preserve the physical and mental health of our children by being loving and good parents.

There are no 100% guarantees…even if we procreate with someone who has a super great family health history, sometimes things just go wrong. Problems in pregnancy due to infection, diet, and etc. can cause all sorts of birth defects and health problems for a child. Nothing is guaranteed; nothing is perfect. Its just life and we must take it as it comes.

Considering this it’s all the more important to procreate with someone that you love so that you will be there to support each other if/when something doesn’t go quite according to your perfect plan.


To bring a child into the world, or not?

Intelligent/successful people tend not to reproduce themselves these days while the dumb fucks are popping kids out left and right. We need to take responsibility and produce intelligent, educated children. Granted, this course of action is not for everyone. If you don’t want a child please don’t bring it into the world, no matter how intelligent you are or he/she may become. No child should be produced only out of a sense of humanitarian duty. No child should be unwanted.

I too have questioned whether or not I want to bring kids into this crazy ass world. For a long time, my answer was no. But after being around my niece, Megan, and watching her grow and learn, I’ve decided that I can’t deny myself the joys and pains of motherhood. And I want to be a mother not only for my sake but so that I may give another the precious gift of life. And it is a precious gift, even in its imperfection.

My life has not been perfect by any means but it’s still my beautiful, wonderful life and I love it. My father was a coal miner and, contrary to popular belief that coal miners are rich, he brought home just enough money to allow us to get by. I grew up in a trailer in a redneck shit-hole of a town in bum-fuck WV complete with cars up on cinder blocks and a trash pile in the yard. My dad lost his job due to closing mines and what not several times when I was a kid. My family was at one point forced to go on welfare. I remember having some people bring us a Thanksgiving food collection one year…that was the only way we had Thanksgiving dinner. I was picked on quite often in Junior High school due to not having the “cool” clothes or whatever. I’ve never had a great breathing capacity and as I mentioned before, my eyesight sucks. I lost an old love interest and dear friend in a car accident on July 14, 1996. My great-grandmother died November 10, 1997. My grandmother died May 15, 1998. A kind and wonderful man, my boyfriend’s father, left my life on June 25, 2001. And I’ve had my fair share of hell in my love relationships.

But I have a wonderful family that loves me. My parents and my siblings are my friends. I have had and still have so many wonderful friends to laugh and have fun with. I’ve never gone hungry and I’ve always had a warm, safe place to sleep. We may have had a trash pile in the yard, but I had a huge yard to play in! Though my parents couldn’t afford to buy us all of the things the toy companies convinced us that we needed, they did buy us what they could. More importantly they not only bought the toys but also played with us. (I’m the only person I know whose parents are video game addicts!) My folks were always there to love me and tell me that it wouldn’t matter one day that I didn’t have the nicest clothes…to teach me that clothes and possessions aren’t a measure of a person’s self worth. Though Robert died in July 1996, I’m so lucky to have had the chance to know him and love him. Both my grandmother and great-grandmother left my life within a 7-month period and of course it hurt…but they gave me so much love…so many memories…made me so much of who I am today. Watching Dallas suffer and finally pass was probably the most difficult thing in my life thus far. But I’m so glad to have known him, to have had the opportunity to love and be loved by him. And concerning love relationships…well I’m happy that I have been able to say “I love you” to someone and mean it. I’m happy that those words have been said to me with sincerity. I’m happy that I’ve had and have been a lover. If I died tomorrow my only regrets would be that I’ve never been a wife or a mother.

I’m so glad that my parents decided to give me life, even though the world is fucked up. I love my life, I love my family, I love my friends and I would not take anything for the experiences I have had. Even the painful ones. I have never wished that I had never been born. I have never had thoughts of suicide. The world is fucked up but it’s always been that way. Human deviance and evil have existed as long as the human race has. And yes, I’m at risk every day. It’s possible that I could be raped in the parking garage when I leave work tomorrow evening. I could be kidnapped and brutally murdered. This is the risk that I accept in living life. I accept all of the dangers and the pain. Why? Because there are so many beautiful things in life…so many pleasures to experience…so many things to taste, touch, and experience. It’s so worth it to live.

I’ve decided that I will one day be a mother so that my child/children may enjoy the beauty of life. I will only procreate with a man with whom I am in the deepest state of love. (Fuck genetics.)

I was late for work today. I woke at 8:30...I normally leave at 9AM. So I had to call and say I was going to be late...again. So was Daylight Savings Time fucking with me? Maybe. I really didn't hear my alarm this morning and I know it was set. I just don't know what my fucking problem is...I've had a hard time being anywhere on time for the past month or so. So tired....*sigh*

So I was an hour late for work...but it gets better. I got there and realized that I still had the key to the rental car that Ben and I took to Columbus, in my pocket. The car was supposed to be back by noon today or I'd get slapped with another $50 rental charge. So I had to leave work, take the keys to Ben, and then go back. So I was two fucking hours late for work this morning. Shity. My boss didn't care but I still felt horrible. I hate fucking up.

Ben felt sorry for me and sent me a dozen roses. The first he's ever given me. It was a sweet guesture but I was so "blah" I didn't enjoy it as much as I should've.
But they really are beautiful. A dozen long-stemmed red roses in a clear vase. A nice surprise and I love flowers. I find the simple things in nature, like flowers, much more beautiful and pleasing to me than any other gift...like jewelry. Sure, flowers are fleeting but they are so beautiful. They are so pleaseing to the senses of sight and smell...and they are a reminder that life is finite..something which we should try to remember every day so that we will appreciate all the beauty that surrounds us.

In the midst of stress and hell we should be able to enjoy the small beauties that the Earth offers up. These small things are what make life bearable.

"I have decided to start things from here.
Thunder and lightning won't change,
What I'm feeling and the daffodils look lovely today"

~The Cranberries from "Daffodil Lament" on the No Need to Argue Cd

This weekend Ben and I drove up to Columbus to visit our friend Shawn. Shawn and his Mummy took us to this great Italian restaurant called Bucca di Beppo. We had to wait a bit even though Barb had made reservations...and the lobby was totally packed with people. I’d never seen so many people patiently waiting to be seated at a restaurant, so I reasoned that the food must be well worth waiting for. And it was.

Well it wasn’t anything spectacular but it was delicious Italian. I think the environment was really the kicker though. Our waitress told us that the whole place could comfortably seat 700 people. We counted 80 some in our section alone. Most of the tables were close together and it was very loud. We had to shout to have conversation. That usually only happens at bars. But everyone was in a jovial mood. One of the servers announced that a young couple was getting married soon so we all sang the chorus to “Going to the Chapel” to them. Also we sang “Happy Birthday” to someone who was turning 21 and we sang, “You are My Sunshine” to someone else. It was very fun and the atmosphere seemed very Italian. The portions are supposed to be pretty huge though our Manicotti and Chicken Parmesan were just perfect to feed four people. I definitely recommend this restaurant to anyone who likes Italian. It’s an experience you won’t soon forget.

Shawn also took us to see the corn cob statues. There's some business up in Columbus that has about 50 or so concrete statues of corn cobs on their front lawn. They're all white and perfectly lined up...kind of like Arlington but with corn cobs instead of grave stones. We were out there at night and I pulled the car up and shone my headlights on them. They were fucking creepy in the dark. Like Shawn said, if the Children of the Corn had the resources these are what they would build.
So you know we just had to go out and have a picutres taken with the corn cobs...I ran in between them and danced around one. :) So now I can tell my kids that I once danced at night around a statue of a corn cob. Honestly, how many people can say that? :)

What else?

Spring Break ends tomorrow. I have to go back to school Tuesday and this is the last week that I’ll have to work on my senior project for psychology. I’m really nervous about it. I suppose I should have done some work while I was off and I really have no excuse as to why I didn’t. I’m just so so so so so tired. I’m done mentally. And that’s not a good thing considering that I have a month more of school.

Ah well. No fretting. I’ll get it done. I won’t guarantee that the quality of the work will be great or anything near my best, but it will be done and that’s the important thing. (I accept my status as an underachiever!)

And then I have to turn my mind to thoughts of the future. This is such a huge crossroads…and I have no idea which path I want to follow. Grad school? Devote a year or six months to the study of music? Retreat to a nudist colony? So many questions to be answered. So many choices. And a soul that’s so fucking weary.

Ack! I’m getting stressed…need to think about here…now…planning is what sane people do. And I feel that I’m nowhere near that at the present moment.

“could have been easier on you
I couldn't change though I wanted to
could have been easier by three
our old friend fear and you and me”

~ Bush from “Glycerine” on the Sixteen Stone CD

I just read my last post…I think I was depressed. Just maybe.

But that was then and this is now.

Today I went to the gynecologist! Fun stuff.
Honestly I must say that it’s one of the strangest situations I’ve encountered thus far in my existence.

There you are completely naked with a man who feels your breasts…sticks his fingers into your vagina…even lubes you up with KY Jelly…and you’re not going to have sex with him. Log this one under unnatural occurrences.

Now I’m not attracted to my gynecologist. I don’t want to have sex with him. (Although he does have a magnificent bald head.) But when someone feels your body…especially when someone pokes a finger into your “no-no spot”, your body responds. Or at least mine does. After my visit was over I was very…well…aware of my body. Very aware that I had a vagina. Now I don’t mean to say that I was turned on. It’s not at all like that…I was just aware of my sex organs. I suppose it stems from the fact that during any other instances where someone was touching me like that, I’ve gotten some! To have someone touch you and you not get any…well its…odd.

Anyway, during the visit, to ease the awkwardness of the situation the gynecologist has a conversation with you. He walked in and checked my breathing and then asked me to lay down so he could fondle my boobies. Then he put my feet into the stirrups at the end of the table and asked me to slide all the way to the edge. At this point I was lying with my legs in the stirrups but still tightly clasped together. The doctor reached down and pushed my knees apart and said jokingly, “Now I don’t want to have to break your legs! You can’t to a pap exam with your legs closed like that. Open up, honey. Open wide!”

So I jokingly reply, “Exactly how many women’s legs have you broken in the past?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say they were broken,” says he, “Dislocated perhaps but never broken. And if they were dislocated I’m sure we could pop them back into place somehow. And on the off chance that I do actually succeed in breaking something then we’ll just make a splint and you’ll be good to go!”

“Lovely. Sounds like medieval torture.”

And then the conversation proceeded to my vagina and my vaginal health.

After this was done I decided that I would get a blood test. My sister was doing it and I was going to be there a little longer waiting on her anyway, so why not? So I sit down and the nurse starts slapping my arms and poking at them with her fingers. She did this for about 5 minutes and after also examining my hands she decided that it would be best to take the blood from there. So she starts poking the needle in my right hand. It had been so long since I’d had my blood taken, I decided to watch. This was probably a bad idea. Now the sight of blood does not phase me. My blood, my friends’ blood, a family member’s blood. Not a problem. But watching her poking that needle into my vein…watching as she struggled to get it properly into place and feeling the digging pain…well I got a little pale and could feel consciousness slipping away. I said, “Yeah you might want to stop that now. I’m getting sick.” My sis said my face was solid white.

She tried once more, this time with my left hand. My sis and the nurse distracted me with conversation while the other nurse poked away. I was pricked, my blood filled the small vial, and I didn’t feel a thing.

So now I know that I shouldn’t watch as others are sticking sharp things into my flesh. Even when there’s no visible blood, I just can’t handle it. I’m actually rather disappointed in myself. I thought I was tougher than that, but the reality is I’m just a whimp. Can’t stand the sight of someone poking my flesh…what have I become?

After this ordeal was over, I received my long coveted “anti-baby” pills. The wonderful little blue pills that make untimely pregnancies almost a thing of the past. I also got about 30 condoms in my little brown paper fun bag, so now I’m good for another year.
Let everyone raise their voices in praise of the beauties of contraception!

My sis and I headed from the Dr’s office to my parent’s home and had dinner with my Dad. Then we drove back to Charleston and did the tanning bed thing. (Which is heavenly.) There’s nothing quite as warm and cozy as being in a bed of brilliant toasty light.J Well maybe snuggling with the man that you love near a fire with a bottle of wine…that might be even cozier!J
Anyway, it was enjoyable. But I’m afraid that my cleavage might have got a bit too toasty. It’s a little burnt…but nothing that a good slathering of aloe won’t heal.

As fascinating as my chatter is, I must stop now. Too much of a good thing…

“Look, I’m standing naked before you
Don’t you want more than my sex?
I can scream as loud as your last one.
But I can’t claim innocence.”

~ Tori Amos from “Leather” on the Little Earthquakes CD

Sometimes other things know you better than you know yourself.

Sometimes other people own you.

Rip at your seems until no form is left.
And the other people own you.

He doesn’t know the power that he has
She can’t let go but it’s going way too fast
Going back
Going back

Here in the darkness
I forsake everything
I have no heart and so no need to complain
Disintegration
Vile corruption
And I am dead

She seeks escape
She’s felt this way
For too long now
For far too long

I want to scream
But I know only silence will answer me
It threatens me
With emptiness
And loneliness

Torn
Your blood at my feet
The undoing of dreams
And now I die
Here I die

Sink down to sweet oblivion

We live to die. Life is a cycle…a circle. We only have one chance, we must make sure that we live every day of our lives. Live not to regret. I came to truly understand these ideas during the last 10 days in June of this past year.

On June 19th, I arrived back home from vacationing at Myrtle Beach with my boyfriend, Ben, and his family. On June 20th, Ben’s father, Dallas, was admitted to the hospital. Dallas had been diagnosed with a terminal case of prostate cancer two years before, and he had been feeling pretty awful most of the time we were at the beach.

We learned that he had suffered a stroke while at the beach and this had caused bleeding in his brain. On June 21 Dallas was unconscious…the doctors told the family to make arrangements…they didn’t expect him to regain consciousness.

This was so difficult…watching my boyfriend deal with the thought that he might not get to say all of those things that he needed to say. That he might not get to tell his Dad he loved him or hear the words, “I love you too” being said back to him by his Father. That he might not be able to say goodbye.

I suppose Dallas needed to say goodbye too. He held on and regained consciousness. At first he couldn’t speak but he was finally able to by the 22nd. (That was Ben’s birthday.) Everyone got to talk to him, to tell him how much they loved him and how he has been a wonderful father, husband, brother, and son. I thanked him for loving me like a daughter, for always being so kind, and I told him I loved him.

He held on this way for a bit, but finally slipped under again. After two days of horrible, ragged breathing he passed. He died on June 25th at 10:30PM.

Ben and I stayed, along with the rest of the family, all night on the 24th. We expected him to go then. We just all sat around his beside, in agony over his suffering, waiting for him to die. Finally at about 6:00AM on the 25th Ben and I went home to sleep. We came back later that evening and we knew the moment we walked in the room that it wouldn’t be much longer. After much soul searching Ben decided that he didn’t want to be there to watch it happen, so we left at around 8 o’clock.

Then there was the Wake and the Funeral. Everyone was numb. It just doesn’t hit you then…you’re so emotionally and physically drained from the stress of watching them suffer. When it came I think everyone was a little relieved…he was no longer suffering…no longer breathing in that difficult way…no longer choking. But he was no longer.

His funeral was on June 28th. We went and went home. Shawn, Ken, and Pat came and they were so much of a comfort to both Ben and me. My family came too. I know there are others that would have been there if circumstances had permitted.

That night or I should say early morning (1 AM) on June 29th I got a call from my sister. My sister-in-law, Cheryl, had gone into labor. She was having my niece…my brother would be a father…I would be an aunt.

I felt so emotionally tattered; I just didn’t know how to respond. I put the phone down and Ben stumbled in asking who had called. I told him and just burst out crying. I didn’t know how to feel. Was it right for me to feel happy? Could I feel happy? I cried for the loss of Dallas. I cried for the joy of becoming an aunt. I cried for the strangeness of the experience. I cried for the circle of life. I had just said goodbye to a wonderful, sweet, caring person that day…and I was about to say hello to someone else who was bound to become very important in my life.

I sat up crying for a long time, thinking about the whole situation. One person leaves, one person enters. “Perhaps”, I thought, “there is limited room in heaven? Limited room on earth? Only so many souls can be present at one time. In order for one to come, one must go.” I was, we all are, familiar with this concept, I’m sure. But I’d never had it thrust right in my face like this before.

The Wheel of Time…the Circle of Life.
We are each given our time…no more or no less. We have no idea how long or short that time will be. We just must live...and live our lives in a way so that people will remember us how we want to be remembered. I want my brother and sister to think that I have been a good sister. I want my parents to feel that I was a good daughter. I want Megan to think that I was a good aunt. I hope that I will be remembered as a good niece and cousin. I want to be remembered as a good mother. I want to be remembered as a good wife. I want to be remembered as a good lover. I want to be remembered as a good friend. And I want to LIVE my life. I do not want to simply exist. (as I feel I have done quite a bit in the last couple of years) I have lived moments of it....but I want to live ALL of it. To live every moment that I am alive. To enjoy and appreciate even the most mundane and monotonous things…to enjoy even sitting here typing out my thoughts.:) No regrets. Just Beauty.

The next day at 2PM on June 29th, I left my apartment and headed toward Thomas Memorial Hospital. I parked my car in the same lot that I had parked in so many times the week before. I walked around the building and into the front door, but this time I didn’t take the elevator up to the 2nd floor. I stayed on the first and searched for the maternity ward.

I found Wayne and Cheryl still in the delivery room. The baby had been born at 2:13PM. She was only 5lbs and 12 oz. Poor Cheryl was still high from the epidural and they both looked so pale and tired. Eventually Cheryl was taken to a room and they brought Megan Elaine in to get better acquainted with her new family.

She was so small…her skin so pink…her little head so bald! The poor thing had a tiny yellow bow stuck to her head some sort of water soluble glue. I suppose the nurses thought it was cute. And it was. I felt a tenderness…a protectiveness that I had never felt before. I was in awe of this little, fragile creature.

Watching her grow over the past several months has been a joy that I can’t quite explain. She’s fascinating. Watching her learn and change…watching her actually get bigger…learn to use her hands…and now she’s trying to figure out how to crawl. And she’s already eager to walk. She usually fusses until someone holds her up under he arms and lets her practice taking steps around the room. Her expressions are so funny, so cute, and entertaining. I feel a desire to be there to help her learn and grow. To teach her everything I know. I must teach her to love music!!! To sing! To head bang! To dance! To appreciate Tool and Tori Amos and Led Zeppelin. To introduce her to the glory of the Doors and the Beatles. And to learn from her. Now she’s at an age when she can begin returning affection. Simply winning one of her smiles makes my day.

Those that know me well were a bit surprised at my affection for the child. (my mother especially) I’m typically not fond of children. In fact, I had previously decided that I didn’t want to be a mother. Megan has slowly changed my mind.

I have decided that I must not miss out on those simple pleasures of family life. And the thoughts of creating a child with a man that I love with every fiber of my being…a physical manifestation of our love…a joy to behold together. What a lovely image.

In time, I know that I will be in the mental and financial state to have children. I’m not ready yet. Hell, I’m not even ready to be married. Given that we have so little time, one life, one chance…you must really love someone in the right way to decide to do that. When I get married it will be final. I will only get married when I feel it is right. I refuse to bring children into a marriage that is doomed to fail…no child should have to endure the separation of the two most important people in his or her life.

It has been nine months since Dallas breathed his last breath and Megan took her first. People die, people live, and time still goes. The wheel forever turns.

We each have only one life. One chance. When I leave, someone else will be born to take my place and he or she will be given his/her chance. But I will never have another. I must enjoy my life. I must live every moment of my life and become something that I will be proud of at the end.

There are things in my past of which I am not proud. But they are part of my life. I will not disown them. To disown your past, to regret so deeply is to disown and regret a part of yourself. You cannot be a whole person if you are divided against yourself. I’ve made mistakes…selfish decisions…and I have dealt with…am dealing with the consequences.

All of these experiences have made me who I am today. What was, was. And what is, is. Fact is fact. And I will live my life. I will appreciate the beauty of who and what I am and the beauty of humanity. I will spend my season. I will live to die. I will live not to regret.

”I embrace my desire to feel the rhythm…to feel connected enough to step aside and weep like a widow…to feel inspired…to fathom the power…to witness the beauty…to bathe in the fountain…to swing on the spiral of our divinity and still be a human.” ~ Tool from Lateralus