"Reset"

Well! I thought I should start posting some choreography, since I'm a dancer and all that.  I've had problems with Blogger's video upload, so I've been using Youtube to do these.  So there's actually a first in this series, which I will be posting shortly.

This one is entitled "Reset" and involves the ballet barres at the back of the dance studio at my college.  The concept movement of hanging on the barres came from the warm-up improvisation that I do in one of my rehearsals.  It's helped me generate A LOT of really great movement.

The music in this piece is from freemusicarchive.org.  Composer details are at the end of the video as well, but it's "Low Level Flight" by Christoph Schindling.

Choreography came from The Postal Service's "This Place is a Prison" but was placed to new music in order to make it youtube friendly.

72 Hours Overthought.

I spend way too much time on the computer.  Not just doing homework, but reading, watching people play video games on YouTube, looking up my favorite bands, searching for interesting facts, obsessively checking my email and Facebook.  Obsessively checking my email and Facebook.  Obsessively checking my email and Facebook. Obsessively checking to see if the internet has changed or someone has written me a message that could change my life.  Obsessively waiting to feel important.  Obsessively waiting for disappointment.
I can't seem to get my head around the fact that I'm not always necessary.  I'm not always important.  I'm not always what everyone wants to look at.
Those are the days I'm so close to deleting my Facebook, putting up a permanent out-of-town reply on my email, and forwarding all calls to my voice mail.  Those are the days I want to disappear and pretend that the world really would be fine without me.  Because it would.
During the week I do a fairly good job of disappearing.  My friends don't really see much of me unless they have class with me, and in all honesty, I'm perfectly fine with that.  I've been rather antisocial in the past, and I like my quiet time.  Sure, I love my friends, I like people, but I'm a loner most days and need that quiet and personal space that you can't always find in college.

And then I write for a blog that rarely gets read.  That's when I feel really insignificant.  In a way, it's good, though.  I can write whatever the heck I want and know that the people who I write about or write for aren't actually reading any of it and are completely in the dark.
This all sort of links back to wanting and validation. There isn't any importance or desirability in my blog.  I write about the things I want to write about, and they tend to be somewhat moody or useless (we can thank my Bad  Mood for this entry) but they are usually interesting, provide something stimulating, and I get at least one view from someone in Germany or Texas a month.

It's the curse of Overthinking.  It's in a woman's nature to overthink everything.  We let one little thing escalate until it completely destroys self-confidence and a Good Mood and throws everything into the toilet.  That's basically what's happened in the last 72 hours for me.  So one little happenstance last night which I have been overthinking since its occurrence has turned my mood sour after a pretty damn good day on Friday.  It's now left me feeling very drained, depressed, and lethargic.

Ladies, when something happens...let it be.  Overthinking does absolutely no good whatsoever.  You just need to hear it from someone else before you realize how much you're blowing everything out of proportion.

I would

I would love to tell you

“Your hand on my skin makes me weak”

I would love to tell you

Just how breathtaking it is

To watch you dance

I would love

To tell you

There’s something not quite wrong about this

I would love

To sit and talk

For awhile

About nothing in particular

With you

I would

tell you how I feel

if it didn’t scare me

I would

ask you if

you feel

Something

when I put my hand

on the hand

you put on me?

I

intentionally

let it linger there

so you’ll feel something

I

hope it scares

you

just as much

as

it scares

me.

Aura

I guess I should explain something prominent in my life.  It's kind of like a monster in the closet I don't want to look at, sense, feel, touch, smell, or remember.  It's been around for years, it's not unique to me, but it's become more and more of a problem in the last five years.  It's that word that explains everything and nothing at the same time.

Headache.


When I was young, they'd go away in an hour with two ibuprofen and a glass of milk.  I got them from watching TV or when I was tired and cranky.  As  I passed through puberty, something about my headaches changed.  I developed light sensitivity.  Shortly after I entered high school, I started having sound sensitivity.  Then sitting up, lying down, or standing would cause a surge in pain.  And when I was a sophomore in high school, they stopped responding to any sort of medication.  I'd be stuck for hours, curled up in the dark, almost in tears.  Four or five hours after the headache started, it would subside and I could get on with the evening.  It wasn't always that nice, though.  After a long rehearsal for a play, I'd come home with the headache, unable to do any work, and just go to bed.  I would wake up early and scramble to half-ass my homework.

The pressure was in all different places.  Sometimes it was a crown of thorns, like a band pulling into my scalp with prongs gouging through my skull.  It was a hot spoon burning my temple.  It was a blow to the side of the head.  It was pain shooting through my neck and jaw.  It was a metal rod through my brain.

Three years ago, I noticed that my vision blurred when the pain got bad, so much so that I needed to wear reading glasses in order to see anything in close proximity.

Two years ago, the nausea began.  I had no appetite, I didn't want to eat or drink, and I learned that the nausea is caused by the headache cutting off the signal that allows the stomach and intestines to absorb nutrients.  Which was why the medication never worked.  You've got to catch it at the very start to have any chance at keeping the headache at bay.

Last year, I discovered that ice packs provide some relief when you're already down.

Eleven hours ago, I experienced my first real aura.  After an entire day of a mild headache (triggered two nights ago from getting something in my eye), I woke up this morning feeling good.  No pressure, no blurry vision, just an excessive amount of sleep. I went to visit my grandparents with my mother around 1.  While I was there, I glanced at a light on the wall and had the image of the light "burned" into my vision, so when I blinked, the silhouette of the light appeared.  But something was funny about it.  It looked like a tiny drop of water in my vision.  Surrounding it were zig-zagging yellow, pink, green, and blue lines, kind of like a VCR tape with a bad pause.  The lines were vibrating and the spot grew over the span of 10 minutes.  The direct center stayed in focus, but everything else on the outside of that spot was unfocused, humming, and uncomfortable to see.  I was struck with a subtle pinprick of pain on the left side of my head and took a tylenol, and right after I sat down it became very difficult to see.  Disoriented, I shut my eyes and saw those zig-zagging lines all around the circle of my vision.

Then came the pain.  After having a headache almost consescutively for 36 hours, I am seriously hoping that I'm headache free the rest of the week.

Here's my advice for anyone who has frequent headaches :)

• The darkness is your friend, eliminating light, sound, smells, or any other sensations that could be unpleasant (such as hair being pulled back, wearing a bra, socks, underpants, jewelry, makeup, etc. is the best way to make yourself comfortable.
• The first 20 minutes are crucial, if you can take an Excedrin, Tylenol, Advil, Aleve, etc. in that amount of time, you may be able to fight it off.  I do advise against the Excedrin, only because it has caffeine, and that tends to make headaches worse if you're already a caffeine consumer (such as coffee, tea, or soda), but the caffeine just gets the tylenol-type medicine through your system faster.  That's the only difference.  If you don't take something at the onset of the headache, you're going to be in pain for awhile.
• An ice pack is a wonderful invention.  Like any other pain, it can be treated with ice.  I like to get the ice pack as close to my skin as possible (like with a thin towel or old shirt) so that the sensation of cold is stronger than the pain of the headache.  It kind of functions like Icy-Hot, the nerves in your skin pick up the sensation of cold faster than the sensation of pain, so it tricks your brain into thinking that the cold needs to be addressed before sending more pain signals.
• Sleep it off.  If you can afford the time, hit the hay earlier than you normally would.  But wake up at a reasonable hour.  This is the only surefire way I've found to get rid of a headache.
• This kind of comes from a summer spent battling insomnia: keep a regular schedule.  Go to bed around the same time every night, wake up around the same time every morning.  If you drink coffee, don't skip one morning--you can end up with a nasty headache from caffeine withdrawal.  Don't drink soda after 6 in the evening, that can mess up your sleep schedule as well.  
• Try and identify what could have caused your headache.  The Android market has a good free app for keeping track of your headaches.  I've been using it since February 2011, and it's been really helpful.  The trick is remembering to use it (and when you've got a headache, looking at a screen is the last thing you want to be doing) but if you keep track for a couple of months and have something to show your doctor, it gives them a pretty good idea of what your headaches are.

I don't know if I'm going to have another aura anytime soon, but websites tell me that when you have an aura, a migraine usually follows.  I know the anxiety of going back to school is probably getting to me.  And the numerous amount of classes and assignments I'll have will send me through the roof with tension headaches.  Wish me luck, folks.

Just a something.

There’s this

Boy

A lot of stories start with that.

However, this isn’t a story.

There’s this boy

I’m quite possibly

            Falling

For in the most terrible fashion

You see, I’m falling

            In something

With him. 

I don’t quite know what it is
I think I’ve know it
            for…three years?

When I met him, he was the star.

The man who was a d-bag character

But a caring, conscious, compassionate

            Young man.

I had my suspicions.

I was scared back then
            of everything with a penis
            and a hankering for a petite girl with nice boobs.

                        And then I went to college with him.
                        And something’s changed.

We danced together so many times
and we dance like we have the same body
and I’ve watched his moon-white skin
under lights
under costumes

And we connected.

                        “It’s going to be ok”

Both in and out of characters he’s said that.

He whispered it in my character’s ear
and brought so much to our moment

He’s cared for me

Watched out for me

And I used to want him.

            The feelings sort of died away when the show ended

But being away from him for several months

            And seeing him again

                        And accidentally brushing his lips against mine

                        (even if he doesn’t remember it that way)

                        While holding my hands
I don’t want to miss my chance
but I’m scared I’ll lose the friend he became
if I attach myself more.

            But it’s lingering.

I dreamed I told him how I felt

                        “that’s nice”

I dreamed we danced again
but in private
and the wanting resumed
            now my heart is aching
            for many reasons.

            One being the stupid boy who used me a year ago
            Then excommunicated me.
                        The other because I’m realizing all of this so slowly

                        And I’m afraid I’ll run out of time
                                    before I realize there’s more than just a something.

Gone

I want you gone.
You've haunted me
disturbed me
bothered me
choked me
smothered me
left me
and I want you gone.


I thought I saw you a few weeks ago
I saw your friend
and someone who
looked
like you
but wasn't.

I

br

o

ke

a little bit

and then realized

I really shouldn't give a damn about you anymore.

I dreamed

You were laying beside me, half your weight pinning me down

while a good friend told me it was a dream, and then changed into you

I wanted to run

there was nothing there.

it's been a year

and your ghost 

is still very much a ghost.

is still very much unsettling.

I want you

gone.

Paper Skeletons

At some point in my life

I did some things

Not necessarily

            Good things

But things.

I’d like to say I’ve done

            Good things

But we’ve all got our skeletons

Don’t we?

These things

Hang on cobwebs of steel

Invincible

To secrets that need keeping.

            Good things

Just don’t happen to me

Like princes

Men on horseback

Minor miracles

            Good things

Take awfully long to come

I’ve been waiting a long time.

Packed into a closet

I’ve kept shut for years

Terrified of the boogey monsters

Occupying it.

They whisper all the

            Good things

I could have done with them

All the

            Good things

They haven’t done.

Good things

Aren’t made of steel

They’re like paper skeletons

Remnants of the things

The

            Good things

That wither and rot and

Fade into dust

Never lasting forever.

Experimentation

Today's post is an endeavor I worked on this afternoon.  My late uncle, Larry Kurtz, was a musician and poet.  While my father and I were cleaning out my grandparents' basement, we found a paper bag containing a lot of Larry's notebooks.  Inside these were hundreds of poems, songs, experiments, you name it.  It's difficult to explain how I feel listening to my voice singing his lyrics.  This was a poem, entitled "To Bernice (as we Change at Home), and I put a melody to it.  I feel sort of Imogen Heap on this one because it has no percussion and is entirely A Capella.  Although I never met Larry, he lives on through my voice, my songs, and his words.

Enjoy :)

I apologize for OneTrueMedia's sucky quality if you don't pay the $40 to do it in high quality.  It doesn't quite do the song justice, but I love it.  I nearly cried when I finished it.

Where the Blog Title Comes From

I wonder what it's like

to think

like a man

to think

without ever waking up

to dream

without dreaming.

I wonder what it's like

to be in love with someone

who loves you

I wonder what it's like to be in love

I wonder if it's all they chalk it up to be

Or if it's just chalk

and washes away with time.

I wonder what it's like to climb a mountain backwards

I wonder why I've asked so many questions

and never received a straight answer

why are they always crooked?

Does a crooked answer count?

Can I ask you a question?

maybe

Can you answer a question?

maybe

Would you say something other than "maybe?"

maybe

When I think about answers and questions and rhetorical things of that nature,

I think of the moon

how it's burning on one half

and freezing on the other

footprints left decades ago remain on its surface

the light we see at night comes from the light we see at day

We never see the dark side of the moon

Just like we never see the dark side of a question.

There is an answer to every question whether we like it or not.

It is the rhetorical questions that show their dark sides.

If humans were more like questions, would more of us show our dark sides?

Or would we cover our better halves in artificial light to make the rhetorical question seem answered?

Why does there have to be a wrong answer even when we claim there isn't one?

Why are there more questions than answers?

I guess that question has a dark side, too.

Six Eight

I'm doing something a little different tonight.  I posted an old poem earlier, trying to get into a write-y mood with some success.  My friend Cary and I decided to start a short-story/one shot blog and we had our first posts last week.  This is the second story I wrote for the blog.  It'll be posted on the official website tomorrow afternoon, but I wanted a little traffic from different viewers.
This story is called "Six Eight."  It's about a young, impoverished woman in an unnamed city.  If I really think about it, it's a story about determination, confidence, and struggle to live.  It has a happy ending (as a lot of my stories do), and I like a lot of the symbols I tossed in there. However, I'm not entirely happy with this story.  I feel like it needs to be in two or three parts.  Funny thing is, I'm not happy with it, but I like it.  I wanted to throw this out here because I wonder if any of my sporadic or casual readers will find it interesting.  I love writing, I love sharing my writing, and this is my primary blog (and it's all about increasing traffic and producing material for the masses.  That's why they invented Tumblr, right?).  So if you're interested in seeing what this story is about, please click below :)
BE WARNED: It's fuckin' LONG.

________________________________________

Unlove Story

I wonder why

It’s so wonderful,

It’s so beautiful,

Why this thing called

Love
attracts so many
guilty

Openmouthed stares and lovers’ sighs
over someone who doesn’t exist?

Pages open like a partner’s arms

And we feel safe in a cold
paper cut.

Does the divorce rate prove our high expectations
of unexpected consequences?

To young lovers swooning
over faces they imagine
why does it

Attract

So much attention

When our lives depend on other things?

We cheat on ourselves
with books and magazines
who preach self love

But endorse self loathing

And why?

Because as young, unloved women and men

We like to pretend that we’re not.

See what's inside?

Click here if you have Second Life

So I felt like showing you something from my adventures on Second Life today.  This was taken at sunrise on the Alirium Gardens sim.  At least, I think that's where it's from.
People have asked me what the appeal in Second Life is, and I say it's the possibilities.  In a digital medium, there are endless combinations of infinite resources.  I use it for the photography.  I also use it because it makes me feel like I'm in a dream world.  I can fly (Which is one of my dreams) in almost any area (even if flight is disabled!) and some places are just so breathtaking that all I want to do is disappear for awhile into my own little world.
I've written a number of poems about some of the places in there, because it's not just for business or roleplaying, it's art. Some places are pure art, and deserve to be treated as such...Like A.M. Radio's builds, or basically anything created by Bryn Oh.  I urge you to take a look if you haven't.  Second Life takes some getting used to, but they've made it easier than ever to get started.  I'm not advertising or anything, I'm just an addict of the imagination, and something like this makes it easier for me to let it run.

Doodle Day

Drew this on an especially bad night of insomnia.

Entitled "Refusing to Work"

=
And yes, it's edited.  The original is black and white on paper.

Wanting

I want to be original.  No, not that whole "make something up and call it new" thing, nuh-uh.  Not me.  I want to find something completely unexplored and undiscovered and make something of it.

I want to generate movement to uncommon rhythms that no one has ever seen before.

I want to turn reality upside down.  

I want to pretend to be original to be original.  

I want innovation and invention.  

I want art and intention, I want to look at a plastic Coke bottle and see something different every time. 

I want to paint the sky red.

I want to write a song that changes someone's life.

I want to be looked up to for the things I have done.

I want to inspire someone to change.

Most of all, I want to be wanted.  I want to wake up with my eyes closed and know there's someone there who won't say a word.  To feel his cold toes pressed into the sheets, to turn to his shoulder and bury my face in his neck, that would be something.  I want to be tangled legs and arms, seeing eye to eye and not needing to break the silence.

I want to step off of the stage in my costume and makeup and to have complete strangers say "I want you in my company."

I want to stand beneath the stars, under the arch of the Milky Way and feel as though those stars are arms reaching towards me.

I want my friends to call me and say "Let's do something," and for me to say "Yes!"

I want to want someone, I want them to want me.

I want to hug my sister.

I want to be more than just a dancer.

I want to be an artist.

I want to make artists.

I want to want to be a work of art.

I don't want to look at "want" anymore.  Because  now it looks like a dying ant.  the W sticks its legs up in the air and the ANT follows its lead.

Looking at a word until it becomes meaningless makes you want to mean something, doesn't it?

I know I want to mean something.

Someday.

To someone.

Tis a sleepy language...

Hiya folks.  Ever have those moments before falling asleep where things just pop into your head and you NEED to write them down? I haven't had those for awhile, but since keeping a little notebook by my bedside, I produced a few things I find beautiful, and I'll share them with my audience of basically nobody.

"All that matters is who you are; 

everything else is consequence 

or circumstance."

I imagine it starts at the toes.  The footprints of the soldier march their way from the top of her foot to the ankle, leaving burning tracks behind him.  He stops to survey the mosquito bite at the joint and decides to keep going.  He squares his shoulders taking cautious steps up the side of the calf, stomping across the firm muscle with a dangerous chasm to either side two legs below him.  Her skin is smooth and smells like wildflowers.  The finger soldier marches on, continuing up to the knees that crack and bend.  The soldier becomes a hand for a moment and explores the back of the chasm, holding on with the thumb and drumming fingers in the curve of anatomy.  Then he's a soldier again strolling up the quadriceps and noting the indent created by a long piece of tissue under the skin.  The soldier's heart rate quickens.  He explores the strong muscle with gentle touch.  As he nears the hip, he slows to a crawl, hesitating at the crease where leg meets torso, testing her pulse briefly before moving on to the bony protrusion of her hip.  The soldier has gone too far.  He waits for his master to shift up her body to continue.  

She rolls onto her stomach and he settles on a dimple in her back.  The soldier becomes an ice skater and a mountain climber.  The blades of his skates send her into giggles and earthquakes and he laughs too, weaving through the mountain range of her spine.  Her shoulder blades like wings folded across her back. The shoulder dances between them a moment, kneading the ground soft.  The mountains shift again as the soldier arrives at a freckled shoulder.  She stares at the persistent soldier with wide green eyes.  His master smiles and follows the soldier's trail with his mouth.  When he arrives at the shoulder with the weary soldier, he continues on, marching up the chin, over the ear, buried in a forest of brown hair for a moment before traversing across her own Mount Rushmore brow.

Down the tip of her nose.

A lake in her eyes and a cave of her lips, gently sealed with the soldier's honorable breath.  A touch of warmth, an ignition of emotion.  Eyes fluter closed.  More soldiers dancing.  Frantically, Rushmores and soldiers rushing from shoulders.

At least that's how I imagine it.

Another Letter

Sorry it's been awhile, my tiny audience, but things have been kind of hectic.

BUSINESS:

1. I WAS ON A BOAT.  Seriously, I was on a canal boat for three days last week, it was awesome.  My aunt and uncle normally live in State College, Pennsylvania, but for the last year, they were cruising around (at a blistering 6 miles per hour when on diesel, 3.5 miles per hour exclusively on solar power) in an old fashioned canal boat.  It was seriously wonderful.  If you're my friend on facebook, I'm going to get an album up that you can check out.  Or you can just skim my aunt and uncle's blog here.  

2. I'VE BEEN EMPLOYED.  I work as a table busser at an Italian restaurant/pizzeria in my area.  I don't make much, but it's something to do.

3. I'M SMART AND GET GOOD GRADES.  'nuff said.

And that's the official updating business.  

_________________________________________________________________________

Do I remind you of the past you're trying to run from?

--EDIT--

You're probably wondering where the letter went.  Well, I decided that it was very elementary-school of me to express my griefs here when I really needed to confront the problem head on.  The issue was resolved several days ago, and things seem to be back to normal with the subject in question.  The reason I have left the remaining line up is because I was able to get an answer for that question specifically, "No."  It was incredibly rude of me to rant about the subject when I hadn't even talked to them about it yet.  So if you liked the letter and are annoyed that I got rid of it, please understand that this is a blog for me above all else.  I produce things for other people to enjoy, but when I don't enjoy something, I have to change it.  This was a necessary change.

Thank you for your understanding.

----

To lighten the mood...

Ok...so I admit to browsing those silly failblog related websites.  About ten years ago (I CAN REMEMBER THAT FAR BACK WHOAAAAOMGWTF!!??JKLOL) I found an AOL Instant Messanger away message that was a proper english rendition of "Milkshake."  I loved it so much that I memorized it.  Yeah... I'm cool.
So today's post (since I'm actually not in that great of a mood but felt like sharing something) is going to be a tribute to that.


"My whipped ice dairy drink brings the attention of many males to my place of residence and/or employment, and they declare that its quality far surpasses that of yours.  Absolutly, its quality far surpasses that of yours.  I could convey you the perverbial recipe, but I would have to demand compensation."


Hope everyone had a good weekend.  Mine wasn't exactly peachy keen, but I'm over it despite the fact that it drained all of my energy.
I have one more week before exams...which means infrequent posting, angry posting, stressed posting, and probably letters to influential people in the near future.  It also means I need to find a job.
Anyone wanna hire me? Just kidding.


See you on the other side folks!

Waiting

I waited for the sky to open and rain down fire on my head.

It didn't happen.

I waited for the floor to crack beneath my feet and swallow me whole, never to return.

It didn't happen.

I waited for angels to sing me to sleep.

I stayed awake.

I let him love me and pretended I loved him, waited to start loving him.

It didn't happen.

I stood in a chasm and called out my name, expecting an echo.

It came.

I swam into the ocean and waited to drown.

The tide pulled me back to shore.

I waited to stop waiting.

..

...

.....

........

It didn't happen.

Identity

For my Dance and Media class this semester, I have to design a completely independent final project on any theme I want.  After one of the most amazing dreams I've ever had, I decided to comment on identity
In my dream I was a choreographer for my college's dance department, and I was auditioning for a piece to the song "Brothers on a Hotel Bed" by Death Cab for Cutie (Listen here).  I've always loved this song, so it's no surprise that my subconscious was choreographing to it already.  I remember about 20% of what the choreography was, believe it or not, and shortly after I watched the group of men  (it was all men for some reason) auditioning, it fast forwarded to the actual performance.  I had apparently been working with someone who liked to add elements of surprise to it, and in the front of the stage, an old gentleman sat on a park bench smiling, whispering to the audience about his childhood.  He looked like he was homeless, his hair was long and dirty, he was unshaven, but he looked warm and friendly.  Somewhere in the background were about six or seven young women dancing in wedding dresses, and then in the far stage right side of the stage was a group of twenty to thirty young men in a triangle doing some really beautiful choreography that I had apparently done.  I was really moved by the whole image.

When I woke up, i spent about ten minutes musing on what my dream had just given me.  I've dreamed about performing before, and I had dreamed impossible choreography as well, but this was all so clear.  I meditated on it all day and it evolved into a commentary on identity.  The line of the song I remember the most is the opening line: "You may tire of me as our December sun is setting/Cause I'm not who I used to be." it continues talking about trying to escape the body one is currently in.
We're bombarded daily with images of what our bodies should look like, who we should be modeling after, what men or women we should idolize if we want to be successful, and I think it's all bullshit.  My idea is to take my good friend "M" (what I'll call her for privacy) and sit down with her to talk about how she perceives identity.  I want to give her some choreography and then let her go with it, move free, and then move restricted.  I want images of her wearing a paper bag over her head with a big black question mark drawn in the middle.  I want to put this paper bag over other people's heads and then record them removing it to show that identity is universal and we should own whatever identity we want.
I'm very lucky to have M's participation in this.  She's an incredibly strong dancer, and a physically strong athlete (she bench pressed me last semester.  I weigh a little over 100lbs, she could have done more).  She dances en pointe, has crazy extensions, and is all-around beautiful.  I have wanted to work with her for awhile now, and I really hope that this project turns out well.

Say Anything Else

(The following is a short story based on a dream I had a few nights ago.)

He’s trying so hard not to laugh, his hands clasped behind his head, his bare chest exposed to the summer sun, the trail of dark hair from his navel disappearing into his jeans.  His abdomen rises and falls with each shot of air from his lips.  I’m squirming, my sunburned neck angrily telling me to put some sunscreen on, my skin hot for more reasons than one.  Cool bursts of breath tell me to slow down, take it easy, it’s ok, but I don’t know how to stop.  My clothes are sticking to my body, the sweat pooling in the dimples of my back, seeping into the crevice of my shirt.  The button of my shirt is stuck on my earring and is tugging at the flesh, threatening to tear. 

Hey, shh, calm down, he says, sitting up to face me.  His cold hands fiddle with the tangled apparatus and after a minute, I’m free.  I tell him thanks.  He shrugs and lies back in the grass.  I flop down on top of him, my palms resting on his shoulders.   There are words inside my mouth that want to come out.  I want to tell him that he hurt me, that it isn’t ok that I’m lying where I am right now, that he doesn’t have a right to be such an ass, doesn’t have a right to have me falling for him again. 

Today

Just got Adele's new album, "21." I've been a huge fan since the day I heard "Chasing Pavements" and with the arrival of her new album, I'm loving it.  Currently,  I'm listening to "Hiding my heart away"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VXJg-ldWSU
It's a beautiful song, which basically describes my love life.  Unfortunately.
It's kind of how I'm feeling after the past few days' events.

Broski

Why the hell do I bother dressing up? The wrong guys always end up falling for me. I'd much rather date someone outside my social circle to avoid complications. Can't I have guy friends who don't want to make out with me? Should I try to be the most unattractive person so that they won't start liking me?

I sometimes wish I was less interesting and less attractive. Less sexually appealing, too. I don't mind he flirting, its just that they are usually flirting with four or five other girls at the same time. I'm never the only one they're attracted to. That's what hurts. The fact that I'm a nice piece of ass and only that. Stop flirting with me because it isn't going to get you anywhere.

I like the friendship, I like the attention, but I would prefer you reserve your affection for the girls you want who will actually reciprocate it.

Validation

Here's a question for my few bizarre readers: What is beauty?  There are stories and magazines and hundreds of different definitions of beauty!  Well...all of them involve something along the lines of "aesthetically pleasing"  So who are we to judge if a girl wants to glue the legs of a fly to her eyelids?  I think it's horrificly awesome.

Yes, this is the actual picture.

Anyway

To all of the girls out there (this is actually for ONE girl I know who has serious self-esteem problems...) How many times a day do you think women classified as "beautiful" hear compliments from someone of the opposite gender?  Well...just as frequently as those who do not label themselves as beautiful.  

My friend, why are you complaining about the fact that you've gained weight (it's college, your foot is injured, you're wearing a gimp boot) and that no guys are calling you beautiful (even though you hear it from your chicky-friends constantly), so therefore you're not beautiful and you want to justify this feeling by becoming bulimic?  Please, friend, do not go down that road.  And listen to me when I tell you this...

I hear males say I'm pretty, beautiful, attractive, etc. JUST AS MUCH AS YOU.  

Why do you need validation for your beauty? Waiting for someone to tell you how beautiful you are takes years.  Men generally do not have the balls to confess their feelings to you.  Just like girls don't have the tits to confess to the guy they are attracted to (or to tell a guy who's attracted to them to lay off...)

Listen when I say this: Validation of beauty is NOTHING if you have no confidence.  The more confident you are, the more you will enjoy yourself, and even more...those guys might just grace you with the word you crave. (But honestly, it's just a word, and waiting for it isn't going to get you anywhere)

Love and other Dumb Things

The Siren has struck again, my friends.  Her victims have no idea what they're in for.  She feels nothing, sees you falling, watches you embrace her, lets your hands linger on her waist, grin quietly in her direction revealing your teeth while she sits with a tight lipped smile.  Arms crossed, eyes lowered, exuding pheromones (her quiet song).  Mark my words, boy:  You're in over your head.
The Siren will make you think you want her, but after a few weeks, something changes; her song wears off, leaving you with a bad feeling in your gut that makes you want to leave her.  Sucked you dry and leaves nothing but an awkward "well, ok" in the fray.
Two known victims are making the advance (a record number for one instance), battling with one another for the spot in her cold, unwelcoming heart.

You know what, the Siren is tired.  She's fed up, frustrated, and unloving.  You should try again in a couple of weeks.  She doesn't have time or energy to put into your pursuits.  She doesn't want to hook up or commit or cuddle, she just wants some space and some friendship.  Surely, you can give her that?

The Siren apologizes for the inconvenience this causes you, but when she feels numb, stressed, tired, and hurt, the last thing she needs to worry about are the brave souls paddling toward the shore, blinded by the song.

Love may be beautiful and know no bounds, but it is also dumb to do so.  You realize that once you fall for her, there is nothing keeping you there but a siren, and until her wings are clipped, she'll continue her path of seduction and destruction, ending up hopelessly alone.

So trapped and so free,
Singing on and on,
Happy to be a caged bird
in demon arms.

I'm not gonna do it!

Wow, geez, it's been awhile.  I have my reasons...involving four hour rehearsals six nights a week for one of the most amazing productions I've ever been a part of.  However, this production of The Tempest is asking me to do something extremely difficult.  I knew it from the start of Tempest Camp that it was an obstacle I'd have to overcome...and that is...

Not.  Smiling.

You would be surprised at just how hard that is for me.  There are three instances where I am not supposed to smile, where the attention is directly on me, and I slip.  The first two are places I can manage (I think), all I have to do is relax my jaw and think about starving children (I don't mean this to be politically incorrect, it actually depresses me enough sometimes to suppress a smile).  The third time, however, is insanely hard.  My character has to fight off another character, using all of my strength, I have to push one of my good friends off stage.
Let me tell you, it's hard for me to make the distinction between his character and his actual person.  When I'm physically invested in something like pushing a guy off stage and acting pissed off and upset, the last thing I'm thinking about is my face.  And the whole time, I have this reflexive smile on my face.
I tried to pass it off like it's in my genes.  Both me and my dad have the tendency to grimace when we are working on something and we get these really toothy grins.  My friend has been trying to help me by randomly coming up to me and pushing on me and trying to get me to fight him, but I can't take it seriously, I can't separate character from reality in that.
The director mentioned to me after I brought my problem to him that when I dance, I have a very neutral but intense face.  Maybe I just have to think of the scene as choreography.  If my friend and I can somehow choreograph it so that I feel more like I'm dancing, then I can try and bring more of my character into it and actually fight him off...
Without smiling.

I'm a smiley person.  I'm the one who should be nicknamed "Smiley," not some 17 year old has-been country singer's daughter.  *cough* Anyway.  My natural impulse is to smile, unless I'm really, truly, and honestly disgusted with someone.

Stupid smiling reflex.  People learn to override gag reflexes...Why can't I override my smiling reflex?

It's weird

Kittehs

I don't know how to do it.

I just don't.

Headphones

I like people to think that when I wear headphones I’m actually listening to something.  It gives me the ability to listen in on their most private conversations without being afraid of judgment.  People are much less guarded when they think nobody is listening. 

Anyone ever actually walk into a closed door?  Yeah. I do it frequently. It's not because I'm blind, because my eyesight is pretty damn good, I'm just not extremely observant all the time.

Peace out.

Hello.

btw, if there's anyone out there who follows my blog, I'd LOVE to know who's checkin' me out!  If something strikes a chord with you, feel free to give a shout!

So remember when I was talking about bra size?  Well It's official.  At Victoria's Secret, I measured as a 32 C.  Cool!  Except the bra I ended up buying was a 32 D.  Fit better.

Anyhow, to completely throw a wrench in the gears of life...
I'm giving up Regret this year.  That's right, I'm going to attempt to go an additional 361 days without regretting a thing.  And then some.
We'll see how I do.

That's about it for today.  I've been enjoying my winter break, and I'm anxious to get back to campus and start rehearsals.  (For what? Well, I was cast in a show at school, a big ol' Billy Shakes play.  Tempest anyone?) and for classes to kick off.  I probably overloaded myself, but I'm not regretting a thing.  Anyhow, I've been spending every waking moment in the house or out shopping, so I'm going to attempt to leave my house tomorrow in the morning and not come back until the evening.  Which means makin' some plans...