hollowed out but resonant, a void is amplified

i recently lost someone i knew, someone i don’t know i can call a friend- but someone who will have a lasting impact on my life. we were close, but it wasn’t a friendship. it was something else and something somewhat forced upon the both of us at the beginning- the beginning being november of 2011.

she was transferred to my floor at work and i was assigned to sit CO with her for an undetermined amount of time. CO meaning constant observation because she was a high risk patient. she was a heroin addict and her family had a history of bringing her drugs while in the hospital, so far as injecting her IV themselves with it. so really, i was sitting CO for her family. she was admitted through the ER for coughing up blood, something that happened in violent fits to her. she had a replaced heart valve that had gotten infected, being that her original one was also infected and beyond repair- hence the replacement. she was positive for hepatitis C, MRSA, VRE, and a rare form of streptococcus that had caused an abcess in her lung which was the source of the coughing fits. all of this was due to dirty needles and prolonged usage of intravenous drugs.

she came to the floor at about 10pm, an hour before my shift ended, and i set her up in a contact room- basically a quarantine room in which i would stay in a gown and gloves at all times. i took her vital signs, wrote up a property record, and saw her age- 25 is what her ID band said, two years older than me at that point. she was sedated at the time and i was afraid of her, and her family which thankfully had left before i saw them that night. i was afraid because i knew the next day i would be in the room with her and she’d be awake and wild, wanting her drugs and cursing me out for not giving them to her or letting her run away. that wasn’t the case at all.

the next day i came in at 3, gowned up, and braced myself for the misery of sitting with a person who had such a rumored and talked about awful history. she was asleep still, but not sedated- just sleeping. i sat down quietly and about an hour later she woke up, looked at me, and said, “finally, they put someone young in here with me.” i smiled, introduced myself and asked how she felt. she said, “i feel okay. i just sleep a lot. how are you? jenna, you said, right?” i told her iwas fine and that if she needed anything i would get someone to give it to me to give to her. she asked how old i was and i told her 23. she said, “you look like you’re 17, you have cute cheeks and big eyes. i love your hair. mine is total shit. It used to be prettier before everything. they won’t let me use my straightener.” i laughed and said that as time goes by she’d probably be allowed to bring in some of her stuff since we all knew she wasn’t leaving any time soon.

over the 2 months that she stayed with us, i spent 8-11 hours with her, 4 days a week. during that time i learned about her and she learned about me. we watched beauty & the beast, ice loves coco, and basically every other reality tv show you can think of- and made fun of every single one of them. she told me about how she got into drugs in the first place. she was 14 and her 22 year old boyfriend shot her up, and it was done. she was hooked. i asked her questions out of morbid curiousity and she answered all of them. did you grow up with no money? no, we're a rich armenian family, that's how i stay high for so long. did you graduate from high school? barely. is it true that people brought you drugs in other hospitals and this hospital? yeah, i did a bump of cocaine a year ago off a bed rail and went into cardiac arrest. as for my mom bringing me drugs, i guess you know the answer to that already. does your mom and your sister do the same drugs? i know you know they're high or "not right" when they come to see me. it's embarrassing but they're family. they're all i have.

it was points in our conversation like this one where i would say that's not entirely the case. i would bring up out of state rehab facilities in florida or california or anywhere else where she could build a new network of people and things to live for. she looked at me and said "i think it's too late though. i'm like an old lady now, i never went to college. i'm so fucked up." i told her "you're only fucked up right now because you're really sick and surrounded by toxic people. you can break out of that. there are deadbeats that are 50 and going back to college these days. you're way ahead of them." we laughed. i asked her what she would want to do with her life, if her life were normal. she told me she loved cosmetics and hair and animals. i told her that was a weird answer and we laughed some more. then she threw some questions right back at me.

why are you putting up with this, just sitting in here all damn day? because i kind of like you and i get to watch shitty tv all day. do you think i'm as awful as all the nurses say i am? absolutely not. why? because i got to know you. you're pretty kind and generous. i hear how you talk to your friends and your family, especially your grandma on the phone. i heard how upset you were when you found out your friend was brought into jail again and you called your dad begging him to post his bail. i mean, it's messed up, but you're doing all that from a hospital so it sort of says something about who you are. how do i end up being okay like you? stop using, go to another state, and focus on you. it's going to suck and hurt and be awful, but you'll get to live. you'll have a life. you can do it, you were supposed to die about 8 times before and you're still alive. you're strong enough to pull this off. she looked at me and cried and i hugged her through my gown and gloves until she stopped.

eventually, the nurses did let her bring in her straightener and hair products and we'd sit on her bed and i'd do her hair, help her change her pajamas. she said she wanted to braid mine but knew she couldn't because of the contact precautions. i casually said that some rules were made to be broken and let her braid my hair. it was a pretty solid braid, she did a lovely job of it.

in between our hour long sessions of gossiping and talking about life in general, her mother and sister would come in to visit. it was pathetic to see them coming in most definitely altered and sitting on her bed without being mindful of all the IV's she had in her arms. they'd talk to her in baby voices and then suddenly start fights with her. they would rile her up, get her angry to the point where security had to be called once to get the mother out of the room. they tormented her. the family is toxic and rotting from the inside out and this girl was caught in the middle of it. every time a social worker stepped in the room to talk about a rehab facility, the mother said "no, my baby is coming right home to me and i can make her all better!" it was almost laughable.

the time came when the infection had been flushed out of her blood and her fake valve and discharge orders were put into play. she started to count down the days. i couldn't' blame her. after being in the same room, hooked up to IV's, in a hospital, i would want to go home too- but i was scared for her. i asked her, "this is it, right? no more? have you been scared shitless yet?" and she said "yeah, don't want to touch any of that stuff ever again. i'm moving in with my grandma." the night she left was december 23rd. she was getting excited for her upcoming birthday, december 29th. i packed her things and checked her property record, took my gown off. her ride was there and a wheelchair had been brought up. i looked at her and told her i grew really fond of her and that i hope she stays well. she said, "i'm going to visit you, not like when i'm sick. i'm just going to show up and say hey. i'm going to miss you, jenna. can i hug you?" we hugged and said goodbye and then i finished the last hour of my shift running around on the floor. i thought about her all night, and days after- but i allowed myself to be hopeful.

it was only after the new year i found out she had been readmitted on the day after christmas. she was on the 3rd floor, critical care. i asked why and as per usual, she had a fit of coughing up blood and had used. i was told it didn't look good and i was advised by someone close to me to not go up and see her- of course, i did. what i saw was worse than i had expected. what once was a coherent peer of mine was now in an induced coma, not breathing for herself, 25 pounds heavier with water weight due to renal and heart failure, and trach collared. the worst part of it was that her eyes had been taped shut. i spoke to a nurse who kindly took the time to explain to me what was going on. her valve was infected again and the abscess in her lung was bleeding almost uncontrollably. her liver was shot and her kidneys were the next to go. she would thrash and buck if she was left awake because of all the machines hooked up to her and the hole in her throat from the collar, which is why she was kept sedated. i felt sick and i left the floor. she had spent her 26th birthday in a coma.

i continued to go to the CCU on my dinner breaks, walk by her room slowly just to make sure she was there and living. she was, but barely. as the weeks went on, the tape on her eyes were taken off, as was the trach collar. she would thrash if she saw someone she recognized so i kept my distance. no one really knew the damage done to her brain at that point. on my drives home from work i would feel guilty for thinking that she was better off dead.

february was the month she started to turn around for the better, despite the doctor's predictions. she started to remember things and regained her prior mental status. her blood counts were slowly, very slowly, going back to her baselines and the infection was nearly cleared. the abscess, however, was still there. she was able to walk again, with a walker and only in her room since she was still contact precautions. during my breaks in that month, i would go in and talk to her, help her walk and keep her company for a little while. we got on the topic of why she was back. she looked defeated and said, "i should be dead. i almost want to be. i'm 26 and i have to use a walker. i fucked up my whole body and a lot of this shit isn't going away for the rest of my life." i said to her, "you're right, on all accounts. but maybe sometime in the future you can ditch the walker there are medications that can help you lead a semi-normal life. why did you do it again? what the hell happened?" she told me her sister brought some oxy's and heroin home, as a favor to her. she said she didn't use it for a day and then couldn't stand it and used it. right after, she was choking on her own blood. she apologized to me. i asked why. she said because she promised she wouldn't fuck up again and she did. i told her it was going to be alright and that i wasn't mad. we continued to talk about trivial things and laugh and when it came time for my break to end, i said goodnight. that was march 9th.

i came back in for work the next day, a saturday and was absolutely swamped and got shafted with a 30 minute break. the floor was so heavy and busy, all of us were going nonstop. i only had time to eat and i figured i'd see her the next day, a sunday, since i work every other weekend.

around 8 o clock on sunday i went upstairs to the CCU and i saw room 3100 but there was a new patient there. i walked around and peeked in each room, and then a nurse came up to me and said, "can i help you with something?" at first i said no and she looked at me strangely and then i said, "well yes, i was looking for a patient. i sat CO with her for 2 months on K2, would visit her here. she was in 3100, did she get moved to a step-down unit?" and the nurse looked at me sadly and said, "she was transferred to st. charles yesterday to their rehab unit in an effort to keep her from her family. about 10 hours into her stay there, she had another one of her episodes and died." all i could say was, "oh." it looked like the nurse was going to say something else, maybe that she was sorry but i just said thank you and practically ran off the floor and cried in a stairwell.

it was over. she was dead. she was actually, really dead and she died in a place where she didn't know anyone. was she scared? did she know what was happening? i was told by someone who worked closely on her case that she definitely went quickly and that the lung abscess had burst opened and she drowned in her blood. over the next few days i was angry about it. i still am, i suppose. i'm angry that her supposed friends will remember her for about a month and then forget and get over it and keep using. i'm angry that a perfectly healthy body was ravaged by such a ridiculous and avoidable sickness. i'm angry that her family was so awful to her and didn't do more to stop the cycle. i'm angry that i didn't get to say goodbye to her the way i wanted to. i'm angry that no one will fucking remember her and she'll just be another number. i'm more angry that i'm the only one who will remember her and i was just the girl that was assigned to sit CO with her.

in the end, i know this was best. she went quick and without her family, which sounds the opposite of positive but it was. i'd like to think that i made a difference to her, like she made to me. she truly would have never had a normal life and would always need some type of intensive medical care. i want to believe that i brought her some sense of closeness to a normal world outside of the sickness that her family and friends fed her. i hope she knew how much i cared for her and how much of myself i invested in her. a lot of people in the field say they have one patient they remember forever, whether the patient ends up living or dying. i think this is my patient. i think it's her.

December 29th, 1986 - March 10th, 2012

lost in the supermarket

this dream, like many others i've had, jumps around from "scene to scene". none of it makes any kind of sense in how it links together. i met up with a few of my coworkers at a waffle house that served pretzel sticks before they gave you waffles. one friend of mine took on a waffle challenge in which he had to eat a stack of ten waffles in ten minutes. he admitted defeat shortly thereafter and when the waiter came to take our plates away he scolded my friend for making such a mess and not even finishing his waffles. we all go outside to take a look at a brand new jeep i purchased. somehow i suddenly snap into a kitchen where i was cooking a meal for the same group of people from work. one was crying, the other taking bits of the meal and throwing them on the floor. i say i've had enough of their shenanigans and get into my brand new jeep. i start driving down the road and it's night time. i drive up to a house where i see a lot of men in jumpsuits revving up their motorcycles. i get out of the car and ask them what they're doing and they say their ice cream truck is on its way. they ask me if i want to tag along and i agree to. we arrive at a grocery store where they unload and storm in. it becomes a hide and seek and destroy whatever you can lay your hands on type of game. all of slipknot decided to ravage the store, and soon they turned on me. it became a goose hunt, me being the hunted. so after being tarred and feather with ice cream and crushed waffle cones, i woke up- feeling bullied and sullen.

need a second opinion

i woke up at 9 in the morning today and stepped out to the hallway to get to the bathroom to brush my teeth. before i got there, my mom abruptly stopped me and said the words i never wanted to hear. "there's something very wrong with your dad. we need to get him to the hospital. i think he's having a heart attack." i don't think i ever got dressed and assembled so fast. i methodically went to the bathroom where my dad was slumped on the floor, clutching his chest and looking more helpless than i ever thought he could. i hoisted all 233 pounds of him onto his feet and rushed after my mom to the car. we made it to st. francis hospital in what must be a record breaking 15 minutes flat. i stayed silent the entire time. i didn't know what to say and knew if i started to talk, all that would come out would be anxious ranting. i kept my eyes on him and kept repeating his medications and dosages in my head, over and over. we got to the ER and i took my dad in while my mom parked the car. we had to check in through a security post first. "what's the reason you're here?" i don't think i answered his question. i just shuffled my dad through the double doors and asked a nurse where he should go if we think he's had a heart attack. he was taken away from me pretty fast by two nurses. they saw that he was responsive and able to breathe on his own and was hooked up to an EKG immediately. after admitting him, he was moved to a bed in the ER. his blood was drawn and he was scheduled for a CAT scan of his head and abdomen. he handed me his change, claiming he counted it and he better get all of it back. he also gave me his chain with a cross and pendant on it. i put it on. i hated seeing him in that hospital gown on that bed, hooked up to machines. my sister came as fast as she could and my dad then had the most important women in his life surrounding him, worried but not showing it. tara and my mom pulled a lot of strings to get my dad seen fast. his episode passed, it was mild. he looked a bit more comfortable while we waited for the CAT scan. finally, they came by and wheeled him away. i asked my mom for an honest answer. "what do you think this means? what do you think this is?" she told me the truth. my dad had lived an unhealthy lifestyle for a long time. he just recently started to lose weight and keep it off. he's had episodes like this before, but nothing like what my mother saw that morning. sometimes, the damage that you do to your body is irreversible is what she said to me. about a half hour later, he was brought back to us. he did really look better and much more like himself at that point. he started to whine about being there so i knew he was feeling better as well. another 20 minutes passed and the doctor came by to tell us what the CAT scan had said. he started with the fact that my dad did indeed break his 7th rib from a previous and recent fall off his bike. he then went on to tell us that he saw liver cysts in his belly. there was no internal bleeding, which was a huge relief. he told us that there was a decent amount of plaque build up around his heart. the doctor said the blood test results showed high levels of troponin, affirming that my dad had a heart attack. he suspects that the stress of the pain from the broken rib triggered a high heart rate and made my dad's heart work much harder than it should be while he was resting. beta blockers would help prevent another episode, but he needs a full work up from his specialist. my sister, mom, and i were relieved and happy to hear he could come home with us. this relief turned to a sour feeling quickly. the doctor wasn't done telling us what was found through the CAT scan. his head was scanned as a precaution because of the fall a few days earlier. the doctor called it mild atrophy of the brain. it's a pre-indication of alzheimer's. we were silent. "what does that mean?" my dad was visibly shaken, maybe angry at the results. my mom's face crumbled a little bit and my sister's did as well. i just listened. he told us that it's not devastating, but we should look into preventative treatment in another 3 years or so. i was devastated though. i am devastated. my dad more so. the doctor said to take it easy and see the specialist as soon as possible. my sister drove me home while my mom and dad drove in another car. i knew what was happening in that car. my dad was asking a slue of questions. "am i gonna be demented, sha? i don't wanna live like that." i have to stop myself from thinking about the conversation in their car because it breaks my heart too much knowing how scared my dad was and how unsure my mom was answering his questions. we all met at home and laughed about how we were stuck with him still. i saw his eyes and they were red. my mom looked exhausted. i felt exhausted. my sister left to go back to seaford and the three of us- my mom, dad, and i sat in the den and took a nap. i woke up an hour later and quietly moved to my bedroom. i sat on my bed and went over the day. i laid down and i cried as silently as i could. i cried for about an hour for my dad, for my mom, for myself. he's terrified of losing his mind. "i know i'm not as sharp as i was at 33, but i don't think i'm losing my shit. am i?" this was the question i kept thinking about that made me cry so much. my dad is not an unsure man. he's stubborn and confident and knows everything there is to know, even if he doesn't actually know. to see him question himself was a shock. to know that the day before he was joking and laughing and cursing at my sister's house, making all of our friends crack up made me realize how quickly things can and do change. that alone is terrifying. it may be down the road and i may not have to worry about it now, but to know that alzheimer's could very well be in my dad's future shakes me. it rattles every nerve i have and breaks my heart. i know he feels the same exact way. i want to give him something, do something that will erase that prognosis. i want to make it better and i can't. i feel helpless and useless in this whole situation. i hate taking things as they come, and that's all we can do. if nothing else, i just want to take his mind off of it- but how can i do that when it's on my mind too? i'm happy he's home. i try to keep thinking of how happy i am that he is home and with us. if i can hold onto that thought, i may be able to focus on just making him feel better. i don't know what else there is to do.

from crib to coffin

my neighbor tried to kill his wife about a week ago. he was going to shoot her with his gun in the basement. fortunately, she was able to bring attention to the situation by running outside into the middle of the street. the cops were called and no one died. while one crisis was averted, another is just beginning. a marriage is falling apart, maybe an entire family. i would have never thought that my neighbor was capable of attempted murder. i would have never thought such awful things were going on inside the house next to mine. he was always smiling, mowing the lawn, being a typical suburban sixty-something year old. nothing struck me as odd or off kilter. i've lived next to them my whole life. it drives the point home that you never really know anyone. every single person you meet will have and keep a secret or flaw hidden from you. there will always be something that we all keep from each other. people keep appearances up, smile, nod, and close the door behind them and who knows what goes on. to a degree, we're all guilty of it. no one is ever completely honest with others or themselves. it can be a personal flaw, an addiction, a weird fetish, something in your past, or something in your present- which is worse because that's active lying to the people around you. what forces us to lie about ourselves? for some people it's the need to be liked and accepted. for others it's simply to get through the day without feeling ashamed, a survival technique. then there are the percentage that lie to keep the stasis they've created. they're comfortable with what they have in the now and aren't willing, ready, or able to admit to everyone else that this isn't who they are or what they want. there are people who will die with secrets that no one else knows. it seems like a pretty heavy weight to carry around all by yourself. i've tried to be as honest with myself as possible, but there are things that linger in the back of my mind that i choose to ignore and not confront, and i feel confident in saying that a lot of people function like that. it's a coping mechanism and it works, so why not keep doing it?

every town has an elm street

i've said it before, but i actually mean it this time- weirdest dream ever was had by me last night. nothing in it connects to anything that i experienced or watched the day of and it all means nothing. there's no definite starting or ending point, things just happen.

my sister and i were out east and we walked passed two older women leaving a house in a rush. they were holding a a black garbage bag and a gun. they ran to their car and drove off, leading my sister and i to believe that some wrong doing had just taken place in the house they left. we went inside without calling the police. there was blood on the floor leading out to the deck of house. we saw a head of a blond man with a face that looked similar to brad pitt's. obviously shocked, we just stood there. my sister then kicked the head into the water off the deck and i yelled at her for destroying evidence and this man's head. she said we had to cover up the murder because now that we found the head, we would look like the killers. not wanting to abandon my sister on this plan, i went along with it and we left the house like nothing happened. when we got home later that night, we were both tense and anxious. i put the news on and i see the top story of the evening: man's head found attached to an octopus in the water. i ran upstairs and whispered to my sister that the head had been discovered and that we were totally busted. all she said was that she didn't want to talk about it. i was frantic and got in my car and continued to drive to police headquarters back out east. i told them everything that happened and they said that they needed to bring me and my sister in for questioning. that's when david spade stepped in and told the officers that they could not question me or my sister because the head was found on stolen property- yes, the octopus was apparently stolen from someone's backyard water enclosure. in my dream, the law was that if you find evidence on stolen property you can not use it in the court. therefore, my sister and i were off the hook. at this point, i drove back home and told my sister the great news and we were both ecstatic.

my parents then told me we were moving, and magically, we were there on our new street. my family and i moved to new orleans for seemingly no reason and we were living on a block with five bars. in the town we moved to, there was a race war going on between asian people, black people, and the aryan brotherhood. i was most afraid of the brotherhood. a group of them lived on my block and would stare at me with extreme hate in their eyes. why they would hate me, out of all people, i don't know. my mom had left for work and my dad was leaving to meet a friend of his. i begged and pleaded with him not to leave because i was terrified of being raped and killed by the brotherhood. he told me to go to the pizza place around the corner and that antonio, the owner of the restaurant, would let me stay there and make sure no one started any trouble with me. my dad left and i started walking to the pizza place and i walked into a parade where the three groups demonstrated their pride. i quickly dodged the crowd and ran into the pizza place and introduced myself. antonio was a nice older man and said i could take a seat where ever. the restaurant was pretty crowded so i just sat behind the cash register. once i was starting to feel at ease, around five guys came in and started punching and pushing the customers. adorned with swastika tattoos, i could tell who they were and hid under a table in the back of the pizza place. as the fight continued, a fat man from the AB pulled me out from under the table and started taunting me and tugging at my hair. i tried to throw a few punches and kick violently but the crowd of five members grew to thirteen and i was highly outnumbered. one of the waiters broke a glass over the fat man's head and loosened his grip, allowing me to get away. as i left i saw antonio and he told me to go to the other pizza place on the other side of town. i sprinted as fast as i could go and noticed i wasn't wearing any shoes. i ran barefoot all the way the other side of the town. when i got there, i was crying and out of breath and couldn't get a word out at all. a group of four spanish girls were working at the restaurant and kept trying to get what happened out of me. when i eventually calmed down i told them about the huge fight on the other side of town. they said they weren't shocked at all but that it hasn't ever been this bad. i started asking them where the police force was during all of this insanity and they told me they were across the street. as i looked toward them, all i saw were a bunch of men in uniforms hanging out and sitting on the hoods of their cruisers and it became apparent that they did not run this town at all. it seemed like they were just as scared as i was.

the spanish girls let me know i had to leave because they were closing after their last customer, who in fact was david spade. he was wearing a black hawaiian button down shirt and bright red pants with white ked sneakers. he was a detective in the town and was very angry at the slow service in the pizza place. he told me to suck it up and stop crying, to get used to the fact that the town was a horrible place to live.

variations on a theme

'tis the season, december is here. for some reason i don't feel the holiday cheer at all. it's not that i'm unhappy, it literally just does not feel like christmas time. i suppose my cookie baking spree will change all that. a lot of people have grown to hate christmas because of its increasing gimmicky qualities. i can understand the frustration and dread of the constant holiday music and impending money dropping on gifts for family and friends. it's an onslaught of everything red and green, elves, santa claus, and wasted calories. what i can't understand is the hatred of the whole holiday. how can someone other than the grinch hate christmas? you really have to be a miserable person to dislike christmas. it's a special time of year and it's the only time during winter where i actually enjoy the season. no other month can make snow and freezing temperatures tolerable. in any other case, i hate seeing my own breath in front of me.

you can take christmas however you want. you can make it into a giant nuisance or enjoy it for what it's worth and what it was for you as a child. frankly, i always used to enjoy the challenge of making it on the "good list". that was huge for me and radically altered my behavior for a whole month. writing letters to santa and leaving cookies out for him (and carrots for his reindeer) was a yearly ritual that i got a real kick out of. even church was more tolerable in december. i used to make gifts for my family out of clothespins, cotton balls, tongue depressors, and anything else i could potentially glue together and draw on. my sister was the only one completely unimpressed by my gifts because she knew they were just pieces of crap. that's the point though, my family really never put all the emphasis on the presents. of course there was the discussion of what we really, really wanted but it was mostly about cooking and baking together, watching christmas shows, reading christmas books, and enjoying the lights and sounds as a unit. i feel like the people who hate christmas now were the ones who were only exposed to the commercial value of the holiday season. those were most likely the kids who were told to write down what they wanted and got exactly those items on the list, no element of surprise. that's not fun at all, especially for a little kid. the presents aren't important.

i've always loved gift giving though. i love composing the perfect gift that i know will "wow" whoever it is i'm giving it too. the person this year who's getting the "wow" factor is definitely my mom and she absolutely, 100% deserves it more than anyone else i know. i get the rush of giving from her, too. she's definitely instilled that in me.

christmas should be enjoyed by the masses for more than just the flashiness of what it's become. i suppose i've left all other holidays out of this post, but you get the idea. apply it to whatever you celebrate.

a heart that beats as both siphon and reservoir

a friend of mine told me today that this was jeff buckley's death anniversary. i quickly corrected this friend, who was not even close- his death date is may 29th, 1997 to be exact. it did however get me thinking about him as i sometimes do, considering he is hanging above my bed in poster format. ever since i was twelve years old, i've had a love affair with dead men and their tortured souls. jeff buckley, elliott smith, nick drake, jason thirsk, nick traina- all musicians, all very much dead by their own hand.

i consider jeff buckley's death a bit of a mystery though. he was known to have a history of bipolar disorder and manic depression. most of me believes that he went swimming in wolf harbor river fully clothed with boots on thinking that he could walk on water or breathe underwater. i don't think he wanted to die. i don't think it was his intention at all that evening to drown. i believe he was in the midst of a manic episode. i wonder what exactly he was thinking when he did it. i wonder if he had a moment of sanity where he knew he was drowning and dying or if he tried to come back to the surface for air.

i go through the same motions with elliott smith and the fact that he stabbed himself in the heart. was there a split second he wished he could take it back while he was bleeding out? i'm not sure you're even capable of feeling fear or regret after making a conscious decision to kill yourself. it seems like after you go that far there is no turning back. once you are so miserable, isolated, and numb i don't think you can experience the normal ebb and flow of emotions. with this opinion, i suppose i've answered my own question: they didn't feel a thing.

how to cry in total silence

as it shows in the date text line, it's been a long time since i last posted- the main reason being i couldn't ever remember my password. it wasn't for lack of thoughts, dreams, or opinions.

what exactly is a rut? what brings it on and why do they seem to last for far too long? i feel like i'm stuck in one and i don't see any way out. that's the whole point of a rut. it's hard to snap out of it, to get a grip on yourself. i can see both sides of the spectrum here. i understand the person that has little to no tolerance for "getting stuck in a rut" but i can also very well understand the person who gets caught. i too, have no tolerance for do-nothingism and that's a whole different story. there is a huge difference between someone who does nothing and the person who feels like doing nothing but forces his or herself to be productive in some way, shape, or form. i'm saying i understand the latter. ruts are awful. they make people unsure of themselves in all areas of their lives and relationships. are they good enough? are they pretty enough? are they smart, thin, wealthy enough? are they worth it? ruts make that person answer "no" to each question, effectively destroying most of their self confidence. everything starts to hurt. lying about being fine becomes commonplace. you start to zero in on every imperfection, things that friends and family might love about you. those quirks and specific mannerisms, the sound of your own voice, the way you move your hands and lips when you talk become the very things you just can't stand about yourself. they become things that need fixing or eliminating.

does it sound like i'm carrying on? am i carrying on? i am, i'm hyper aware of that. that's part of the point of this, to be the person no one likes right here. no one wants to hear other people's trials and tribulations. people will say they're there to listen, but in their heads they are checking the time every minute, hoping you'll be done soon. who wants to hear it? i don't even like to listen to people like that. i don't want to be someone's burden, i don't want to be a chore. i want to keep being a productive individual who actively contributes to society, making some small difference and not just being a waste of space. can i keep it up?

pick the victims to pieces

it took me a few days to digest and process what my subconscious came up with and now i'm ready to go through the whole thing. i'm not even going to try to connect the different scenarios in any smooth way. it's simply a cluster-fuck of dream segments. it starts in a burrito joint. a group of violent ninjas storm the storefront, killing random customers and employees. one customer is a girl wearing a ridiculously huge ball gown and she had braces that were blue. the ninjas were hacking people up in seconds. it was like a kill bill movie. so everyone in the front is dead while the employees in the back have armed themselves with balls of dough to fight off the ninjas rapidly approaching them. needless to say, the dough did nothing for the remaining employees and the ninjas were off and running after they killed the last one. the ninjas ran toward an overpass and then hang a right into a wooded area where a bunch of little kids sat in a clearing expectantly waiting for them to return. each ninja sat beside a child, nicely, and seemed to be teaching them how to grow up and be a ninja. it seemed like a father-son exchange. changing the subject rapidly, a mormon family is running an underground beer factory from the middle of the woods. all of the kids (i don't know how many, but there were definitely too many) were ages 4 to 16, all alcoholics. their dad were yell out different types of beer and each kids were run up to him and retrieve their fix. the mother was quiet and seemed to do whatever her husband told her to do. the 16 year old was creepy looking and her eyes were too big for her head. she was also pregnant and seemed to be the "bad seed" of the family which saying a lot considering her 4 year old sibling is drunk of its ass and they're all living in the middle of nowhere producing copious amounts of beer illegally. i didn't think her situation could get any worse until cops stumble upon one of their drunk children and follow the kid back to the factory. a sting is set in place and the mormon dad catches wind of this so he starts to surround the house with explosives, not concerning himself with the well being of his children. his wife is freaking out and trying to gather the little drunkards. the dad gives the older kids- 10 and up- guns and tells them to shoot at the people in uniforms. the dad grabs a rifle for himself and starts lighting up the explosives to deter the cops. all the while, the 16 year old climbs out of a screened in window and makes sure to bring a gun for herself. she runs through the woods and through shallow water and a police dog sniffs her out. she tells the dog to fuck off and then shoots it. almost immediately, she turns the gun on herself-points it to her belly- and shoots. a lot of other things happened in the dream and i can only remember fragments that aren't even worth typing out. all i'll say is that it involves frank the entertainer from that reality show with one of flava flav's ex's, a gay love affair between two middle aged businessmen, a basketball game gone terribly wrong, weird people sleeping in my basement, and walmart. this was a doozy, to say the least. i know i switched tenses about twenty times but at this point, does it really matter? the dream didn't make sense so the tenses don't have to make sense either. hopefully, my next few posts will start to be coherent. if not, then something is definitely wrong with my head. here's things that make me smile:

a good night's sleep, getting to sit on the lifeguard chair at the beach, fireworks, new workout pants, the glimmer of hope i feel when i send out my resume (even if it adds up to nothing), volunteering, summer dresses, sprite zero, the fact that dunkin' donuts now sells a pina colada donut which i have yet to ingest, drawing outside, freshly sharpened pencils, wearing a bikini all day and using the heat as an excuse to do so, trailing sand into my room after coming home from the beach, hanging my arm out of a car window, sun roofs, the moment i put a food i've been craving in my mouth.

no chance of walking away without a scratch

graduation day is rapidly approaching but surprisingly, this post will in no way be dedicated to that topic today. instead, i'll recant the dream i had last night. it was more of a d list horror movie mash up and i was horribly confused when i woke up, as i usually am. it starts off with me on a giant cruise ship headed toward an island with a group of other vacationers. the ship was abnormally huge and had horrible steering capabilities. eventually the ship ungracefully beached itself on land and people jumped out in a disorderly fashion. i got out and found my way to the swanky resort at which i was staying. i set my things down and looked out the window. it was then i noticed that this was not any sort of paradise. menacing clouds and angry locals were rampant and it started hailing as i turned my back to the window. i rifled through my belongings, finally finding my cell phone. i tried calling home but the phone wouldn't even turn on. i then decided to bite the bullet and accept all long distance charges and use the hotel phone, but that didn't work either. at this point, i was becoming very unsettled. i was alone on this island and i barely brought anything with me. as it was, i only brought bathing suits and no real clothes but i had the forethought of wearing sneakers, somehow all the while forgetting a pair of pants. i left the room hurriedly and ran down the fire escape stairs for no apparent reason. i could have easily got on the elevator. anyway, i got to the lobby and saw that it had stopped hailing but the sky was a dark and unfriendly grey while the water under it churned with wave after wave. i asked a hotel desk clerk where the nearest train station was. why i would ask that question is beyond me but that's the beauty of my dreams- they make no sense. he pointed in the general direction of where the station was and i just started running, something i'd be doing a lot of for the rest of the time. i ran through the resort grounds and eventually hit the train station. i got on the next train i saw and it was probably the worst decision i made. not only was hannibal lecter on this train, but so was a young man who claimed to be my stalker, an old man with his brain exposed, and a horribly unhelpful train conductor. i took a seat on the train, which was actually a subway car but you could walk through the cars like you can in LIRR cars. so i sat there and watched hannibal lecter walk through the train car door and just stare at each person on the train for about a minute each. he was blatantly holding a large knife and no one seemed to mind but me. i don't know what set him off but he started yelling and ran through the opposite door and just kept going. i was glad to not have him in my car. next, a young fat man who looked a little bit retarded came up to me- again with a large knife- and said he'd been watching me since i was eleven years old. he said he had a gift for me and gave me a handful of what looked like corned beef and just smiled at me and stared. he kept trying to hold my hand or hug me and i kept dodging each attempt. he finally left me alone and took his corned beef with him. at this point hannibal lecter came back into the car i was in and looked like he wanted trouble. the car seemed to have gotten longer so i had more time to think about what action i was going to take. then, an old man in a creaky wheel chair appeared at the opposite end of the car as hannibal. his brain was seeping out of a large open area in his skull and he had the look of a brain damaged person, understandably. i took his chair and gave it a good push toward hannibal and he was taken out by a comatose man in a wheel chair. the train stopped and i pried open the doors and jumped out. it was night time at that point and the area around me didn't look developed at all. there was one paved trail going through a wily array of vines, trees, and enormous plants. i kept running in hopes of finding something when a local in face paint jumped out at me. i screamed and stopped running and he informed me i was running a marathon and would be timed. i would be spared if my time was under eight minutes. i frantically asked what was going on and after getting no answers i just started sprinting toward a finish line i couldn't distinguish. i started to see a few more people running in the same direction and my hope was renewed. soon, the trail was all uphill and i knew i must have been passed twenty minutes. the last push was up a flight of uneven stairs and there was a girl who barked "7:38" at me. i knew she screwed up her timer because there was no way i made it in under eight minutes. i looked around to see if anyone noticed and just cooly walked away from that scene, grateful for that girl's stupidity. i walked through the resort grounds again which were extensive and seemed to take an hour or two. by the time i made it to the lobby, it was dawn and i saw the same cumbersome ship pull up to land. my parents jumped off the boat and started running toward me which is a rare occurrence, especially for my dad considering the man doesn't run at all. he hugged me and asked if i was alright. i answered with an "absolutely not" and we got on a private plane that appeared pretty much out of nowhere. my parents told me they were sorry for ever letting me come to this place and that i'd be okay. we took off and i looked down at that horrible place and then back to the familiar faces of my parents, all the while still just wearing a bikini and sneakers.

drive all over town

i was somewhat disappointed in the lack of originality in my dream last night, but it was still pretty odd and random. as per usual, there's no starting point- i'm just suddenly driving my dad's car, a mint green ford 500, to the dealership. it was sunny and i felt relaxed even though i was about to do something terribly stupid. i drive through a familiar area and arrive at the ford dealership my dad got the car from. i get out of the car and walk into the building, asking to speak to a sales representative. i continue to state that i wish to sell my dad's car to them immediately. for some reason, probably because it was a dream, the sales rep accepts my offer and takes the car key out of my hand. i then decide to buy my dad a ford dealership shirt, thinking this purchase would make up for the fact that i just sold his car without any discussion and seemingly on a whim. i walked home with a tee shirt in place of a car and ran into my mom. the second i saw her, it hit me. i got rid of my dad's car and my dad loves cars, especially his. i remember feeling panicked and nervous, like a little kid who just dropped their bowl of ice cream topped with chocolate syrup on the brand new carpet. even though the difference between a wall with sloppy crayon drawings on it and a missing car is quite large, the feeling was the same- i did something dumb and i thought of the consequences way too late. i woke up from this dream sweaty and thinking i was going to be in a huge amount of trouble. after the sleepy fog lifted, i realized the only thing i had done wrong was sleep a few minutes late and would need to rush to catch a train.

fuel for the hate game

there's one concept i have never seemed to grasp- the notion of not caring. i don't understand how or why it's "cool" to not care about anything or anyone. how could that possibly boost someone's image or social standing? the whole "i don't give a fuck" attitude isn't endearing or charming. it's a red flag to others telling them that that particular person is socially inept and most likely self important. it's wonderful to be confident but it's simply irritating to be cocky. i strive for deeper and stronger connections with the ones i care about. for the most part, the people i care about do the same. i can't imagine a life full of yeah's, sure's, okay's, whatever's, and fine's. i thrive on something more meaningful and sincere. i prefer i love you's, i hate you's, absolutely's, and absolutely not's. there's a definitive passion in people that are aware of those around them. lots of people have this "holier than thou" complex. the joy of being human and having this in depth thought process is that we can appreciate differences among us yet everyone seems so resistant to utilize this. what makes their opinions, likes/dislikes, and hobbies so much better than everyone else's? if you like to skydive, that's cool. i personally like being in the ocean rather than the sky but if that's what you're into- awesome, not my place to judge. you like filet mignon? great, i prefer chilean sea bass but we can totally agree to disagree and manage to have an intelligent conversation on something other than our surf or turf preferences. you listen to flo rida, garth brooks, and the doors? fine by me, just don't ram your favorite bands down my throat and i'll appreciate where you're coming from. in return i expect people to not hear what i listen to and scoff at my taste. it makes for an uncomfortable and unnecessary situation. these are simple things that make a big difference. one person is no better than another because of their scene or opinions. it's just part of what makes that person up. it doesn't always have to be this big tug of war between whose thoughts are cooler than the other's. i feel like all people care about now is how they look in the eyes of their peers rather than caring about them. it seems a bit backwards to me. i've been guilty of this myself in the past but the difference here is that i acknowledge it. there are numerous individuals out there that truly, deeply think that they are always right and their way is the only way. that's a frightening fact. not caring seems like a lonely world filled with insecurity, shitty relationships with the people around you, and a pent up anger at seemingly nothing. i'm not saying hug every stranger you see, but maybe put some more effort towards showing the company you keep that you'd actually like to keep them. besides caring, these are some other things that make me happy.

uniquely decorated mugs, making my own typefaces, running at night, free shipping and handling, woody harrelson, finishing a project and actually liking it, craisins, rag magazines.

take the wheel and steer

my spring break has come and gone quite fast and even though i didn't go away on vacation or to cancun or something else cliche, i still enjoyed it. just taking a break from manhattan and school was all i needed. i did a lot of work, but not having to go into the city made all the difference. i was able to get two of my closest friends in the same place for an old school sleep over, complete with home made pizza and chocolate milk. though our tastes have changed from extra cheese pizza to shrimp and zucchini pizza and instead of pancakes, we prefer coffee and oatmeal with cranberries- we are essentially the same exact people we were when we are together. the three of us reverted back to how we were in high school and we laughed so hard at the same six to eight year old jokes. it was an alcohol and drug free night, but we acted like we were out of our minds which is always how it was years ago. it was refreshing, to say the least. the weather during break did not look promising in the beginning, but by wednesday things started to look bright. honestly, all i need is sunlight. i spent the early part of my days from then on in running outside, longboarding, and just being outside even if it meant taking all my homework with me. my sister and i went out to greenport and orient together and had a spectacular time. we left by 11am and got back home at around 6:30pm. we laughed a lot, had tasty wraps, walked around the town, and got some gourmet candy for the ride home. i had no idea they made gourmet orange slices so i was all over the two the store had left. i also took a lot of reference photos for one of my projects which was perfectly timed since the sun was out and it was the right time of day to take said pictures. i got at least five trucks to honk at my car dancing and almost caused my sister to run the car off the road because she was laughing so hard at my pure stupidity. i also found out that tara can not pump her own gas. i ripped her apart for that one. i feel lucky that i have a sibling that i can really get along with. we're polar opposites for the most part except for our humor and the fact that we love each other unconditionally. we have the dumbest jokes that no one understands but us and we tell each other we hate each other casually. as much as we bitch about the other, we are fortunate that we have a good relationship and can look at spending a day with one another in a positive light.

another thing i did over break was send out my resume to a lot of different companies. the chance that any of these places will call me back is highly unlikely, but i figured i should at least get my name in their systems now even before i graduate. it really hit me that i'm going to be a real live grown up soon and instead of being nervous, i smile at the thought of starting something completely new. i have no idea where i'll be in a year from now and i actually like that. there are so many roads i could go down and maybe i'll go down a lot of them. of course, my nerves flare up a little bit as anyone's would but the overriding feeling through this whole process has been a positive one. i can't wait to start whatever it is i'll be doing. it's bizarre and invigorating at the same time. to continue with this string of good things, here's my happy list.

music that fits a particular mood, car rides, quality time with whoever, letting go of inhibition, throwing caution to the wind, gourmet orange slices, taking care of myself first and foremost, old dogs, standing on a rotting dock, the sense of possibility, being productive, milking the day for all it's worth, driving with all the windows open, meaningful conversations, not so meaningful conversations.

all is ash or the light shining through it

it's one of those days again- rainy, slightly chilly, windy, and with no sign of it letting up. i made myself get out of bed because if i stay in it on days like these, i end up feeling worse- especially if i'm the only person in said bed. it's always been apparent to me that i am weather driven person, but on stormy days like these where there is no one around and only work to do- i notice it even more. i opened my window and trying to enjoy the smell of the rain at least. the only prospect of today is really just to do a ton of work that i have no desire to do. i'm always afraid everything i do will not come out the way i'd like it to. i have a picture in my head of exactly what i want to produce and somehow the execution of that vision is near impossible. i don't know what it is about my head and my hands that don't connect sometimes. the only solution i can readily see is to keep going forward with it until it becomes what i want it to be. will it ever be what i want it to be?

having a plan, homemade pizza, food blogs, relating to a set of lyrics by the word, being able to say i'm finished with a project, greenport, my hair after i unravel braids, sweating so much that it drips down my forearms, good weather, iced green tea from panera, the giant tree behind my house, honesty, renting movies, taking my makeup off, love.

buried close together in the cemetery weather

fear is a powerful force. it can make us act or stay paralyzed, do or not do. it's one of the most primal emotions and is able to take an infinite amount of forms. the scale of fear ranges from miniscule to enormous. it affects those young and old and middle aged. basically, it's something none of us can escape. we all have to deal with it at different points in time and none of us like it. i don't think i know anyone who claims they can deal with fear perfectly. it causes us to stumble over our own feet and second guess our actions. i deal with fear in a myriad of ways. i get aggressive, agitated, and defensive. i'll stand my ground on shaky feet until the feeling is gone. another mechanism i use to deal with fear is to go somewhat catatonic. i shut myself off from everything and everyone- no phone calls, no internet, no text messages. i will barely even talk to my family. i'll project everything inward until the threat has passed which can take anywhere from three days to three weeks to three months. the age old way of dealing with fear though, is to pretend like it's not there. this is quite possibly the biggest mistake you can make. you have to acknowledge whatever it is before you can move passed it. it's important to understand exactly what it is that fills you fear and then you need to get acclimated to how you may handle the threat or situation arising. avoidance achieves nothing. it only dulls the pang of anxiety and prolongs the chance of feeling the same way again. everyone has a different tool belt of coping mechanisms that seem to work for them individually.

it's time to list my fears:

mutilation of the face or body, amputation of any limbs, paralysis, being severely burned, having something happen to my eyes or tongue, losing my teeth, anything that could potentially leave me deformed in any way, blindness, insects, suffering a long and painful death, dealing with a natural disaster, the ocean at night, being rejected and made to feel small time after time, being less than what you want to be, not mattering to anyone, not making a difference, being sexually abused, what really happens when we die, the future, the past, the fate of my mother, father, and sister, small spaces, having to let go of something, suffocating, drowning, things that are far larger than i am, getting stuck under a floating dock, change, the ending of things.

every little memory has a song

two nights ago i had another one of my classically odd dreams. it could have been fever induced being that i've been sick the passed few days but since i usually have these wild subconscious visions of grandeur, i'm more inclined to say that the fever had nothing to do with it. the main part of the dream dealt with me and my dad. he kept trying to get me to come down the stairs of a dock in the water right off a bridge. i was doing fine until i got closer to the water and saw how dark it was. it looked like oil spilled in the sea. my dad kept motioning me to come closer, saying it was fine and i had nothing to be afraid of. despite his reassurance i started to cry and panic, grabbing onto the railing of the dock stairs and holding on until my knuckles turned white. i told my dad i couldn't do it, i couldn't possibly get into the blackness of the water. he told me i had no choice and that the only way we could get home was to swim out to a jetty about fifty feet away from the dock and get on a row boat that was tied up there. he kept telling me that i had to do this and that it was just the way things were and that i would be alright. i don't remember if i ever got into the water with my dad, but i remember waking up and feeling shaken but reassured that my dad was just pushing me for my own good. in reality, my dad can't even swim. i think that this dream in particular enforces the fact that parents, namely my dad, push their kids to do their best. my dad has always been doing that with me and i can't thank him enough for it. i can remember being at the beach at age six and learning how to boogie board. he stayed on shore, obviously, but every time i got spat up by the ocean, mouth full of sand and sea water- he told me to get back in there and catch another wave. eventually, i got the hang of it and was proud of myself. whenever i feel like i can't do some task at hand, he is the one pushing me almost to an annoying degree. he never made winning or being the best an issue. it was always just a matter of trying your personal best and doing every possible thing you could and if i ended up not being the greatest or failing, he would still reward me because he knew i busted my ass for something. both my parents have always stressed the act of trying to me. try your best, try new things, try to be a better person, try harder. these are some of the most valuable lessons i've learned thus far. i usually attempt to push myself whether it be physically or mentally. if i can manage lifting five pounds more of weight, i'll try another five. if i have to write 500 to 700 words, i'll aim for 700- and if i fail at these things, which happens, i know i won't feel horrible about it because it wasn't for lack of trying. here's a happy list for good measure.

using the sun as a blanket, running outside, getting a package you've been waiting for in the mail, recalling childhood memories, quality time with my family, spying on rabbits in my backyard, thinking about places i'd like to visit, picturing what my future house will look like, not feeling sick, hugs, songs that remind me of certain seasons, pedicures, keeping both my windows wide open, bike riding.

protect the day from badness and ruin

i can't put my finger on what's got me today. maybe it's the fact that i was spoiled with the good weather and having a few good days in a row. today is grey and i feel anxious and restless for no reason. it made me realize even more so that i am easily satisfied with all the small things in life, for instance the sun being out. that automatically boosts my attitude. it could be freezing cold but if the sun is out, i can deal with it. also, a long awaited EP by Isles & Glaciers was finally released after waiting two long years for it. it's amazing how much music can impact someone. even driving with my music on makes me happy. it's the simple things in life that please me.

on monday, i drove out to greenport in an hour and twenty minutes. pushing 100 miles per hour and keeping my eyes peeled for cops was a good time. i drive recklessly when i'm by myself and i don't know why. anyway, i got to where i was going- a pottery painting studio run by a woman i'd worked with in the past. i got there a few minutes early and decided to sit on a bench at the marina down the block from the store and i just admired the sight of a few lonely boats bobbing around at the dock and the sun bouncing off the water. it was beautiful and i could have sat there all day. it's just a town that's there, essentially in the middle of nowhere and a part of me loves that. her store is great and she hangs local artists' work and her own on the walls. it was so refreshing to talk to someone who understood where i was coming from artistically. she was kind enough to even invite me to stay with her and her husband at their house in orient and have full use of her studio and just work away on projects. another amazing thing she offered to do was give my name to people in different fields of the art business world. it's exciting and overwhelming at the same time. i'm looking forward to getting away from everything here and around me for a few days and just get lost in my own thing. i have a good feeling about this. being out there and meeting with her made me feel so good about myself and what i'm capable of doing. that's a rare feeling for me and i plan on holding onto it for a long time now that it's here.

a hypothesis as silly as this

my brain must encompass some sort of outrageous subconscious because the dreams i have are simply not right. last night i dreamt up one of the most epic situations i've ever dreamt. most of it takes place in new york city, more specifically the museum of natural history. there was a contest going on, a sort of amazing race type of event. somewhere in the museum there was $60,000 and whoever found it first got to keep the prize money. the catch was that the museum was haunted by terribly violent ghosts of people and animals. i went in and encountered the first ghost, an old lady with no eyes who told me i had to use the other door. she wasn't so violent, just terrifying. the doors to the museum were gigantic revolving doors that made the most crushing sound when you went through them. when i finally got in, i noticed that a lot of people had decided to try their hand at treasure hunting. i overheard from two people strategizing that the money was definitely in between sections 1 and 6 of the museum. whether or not the museum even has numbered sections is beyond me, but my dream needed to order it in some manner so numbers it was. i immediately went over to the floor plan and looked for where sections 1 through 6 were. i reached section 1 and saw quite a gruesome scene. the violent ghosts were taking out the living one by one. it made no sense at all, but i assumed the money wasn't there so i went on to the next section. section two was more quiet but i was still pretty shaken up by the chaos i'd witnessed before. i went in and looked around quickly, fearing that something would come up from behind me. i found a television playing a scene from a movie involving a godzilla type of creature and a blood thirsty robot. both were of huge proportion. i sat and watched them fight and make the same sounds the revolving doors made and got to the point where i couldn't listen any more. i ran away from the whole museum, fearing my ears would start to bleed. as in most of my dreams, there is an abrupt scene change here. the second i ran out of the museum it was night time and i was standing in front of a balcony. i have no idea where i was supposed to be but i saw my sister standing on the edge of the balcony rail dressed in pearls and a beautiful black cocktail dress. she screamed the following at me: "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST DO YOUR HOMEWORK, JENNA?!" and proceeded to leap from the balcony edge. it's at this point i woke up horribly confused.

on a brighter note, my arm pit is feeling 100% back to normal. the scar is gnarly and it stings from time to time, but i can lift just as much weight as i did before and an even amount in both arms. i think pushing myself to work out and move around right after the operation was a wise decision. it forced the nerves and muscles to reconnect at a faster pace. at least now i have matching arm pits, scars in both. it's amazing what the human body is capable of.

until the lights burn out

i've come to the conclusion that the world might be ending. maybe not today or tomorrow, but it could in my lifetime. with all the natural disasters going on, seemingly one right after the other, i don't think it's that much of a stretch. earthquakes, record snow fall, tidal waves, and hurricanes- it's not looking too great for the world. who knows who's to blame, either. it could very well be us or it could just be the planet wanting to self destruct. why is blogger telling me destruct isn't a word? i'm certain it is. anyways, my half baked theory of the world ending is a piece of shit and we'll probably be here for at least another thousand years. i just think it's awfully suspicious with all these seismic catastrophes occurring.

i thought long and hard about it, and i have to say- i'd be okay with the world ending tomorrow. if we all go at the same time in a split second, i'd have no objections. as long as i got to be with my family and have a few calm moments at home before it all ended- i could deal with that. i'm not being pessimistic about this, i'm being quite rational. in a situation where the earth was going to implode and there was no where safe to go- wouldn't you just want to be home and not panicking? people might argue with me on the basis of "wouldn't you be upset that you didn't get to live your life?" and i would answer with this: i did a fair amount of living as it is and i wouldn't want to be here if my family, friends, and essentially everything i know was gone.

so that wraps up my summation of the human race ending. now would be a good time to add to my happy list.

shadows cast by the moon, the giant hood on my jacket that covers my face, projects coming out the way i want them to, not feeling like i'm an idiot, being listened to for the few times i need it, the fact that there is such a thing as the stinky cheese festival, volunteer work, cooking food i've never cooked before, cookbooks, catchy choruses, hot showers after a long day in manhattan and being covered in city grime, spring, law & order:svu, space heaters.

the years can hardly catch up

my birthday is tomorrow and i wish i had more time before it arrives. in fact, i wish it wouldn't come at all. after twenty-one, it's not fun. birthdays after twenty-one are just reminders of another year gone by. twenty-two is a boring year with what feels like an upcoming surge of responsibility hitting you in the face. it's time to grow up a little bit more. i have no solid plan and no prospect of a good career and while some may say i have plenty of time to worry about that, i really don't. none of us do. to me, "worrying about it later" is simply putting off the inevitable. i would much rather have a plan than stick my stupid blond head in the sand. this birthday is causing me great discomfort. it's just making me think of all the things i haven't done and all the things i need to do. speaking of plans, i really don't have any for this year's birthday. last year was wonderful but that was not by my doing. after your 21st year, no one gives a shit and if no one gives a shit, why should i either? the previous statement may have come off as extremely negative, and you know what- it is- but it's my birthday soon and i can type whatever i feel like typing. that's one advantage of a birthday- you can get away with more than usual, not like i'm planning on being poorly behaved. i mean, it's on a tuesday, how wasted can i get on a tuesday with school and work to do the next day?

what have i learned this passed year? a few things, one being that i should stop getting my hopes up. being hopeful now strikes me as immature, a feature i possessed before i realized this. getting your hopes up for something has just landed me on my ass, upset and disappointed. therefore, i expect nothing on or for birthday. that way, it might suck less because that anticipation will just be gone. i've grown entirely too weary of saying "maybe this time around" and "i have a good feeling about this." i've learned that none of it amounts to much, if anything. no one will pull through for you except yourself. there will be promises made and dates set but in the end how many of them will be kept? it's dawned on me that the majority is forgotten about and sit there in my head collecting dust.

a question i got a lot recently was what i wanted for my birthday. quickly and simply i can answer with the following: new running shoes- exciting, i know. what i really want for my birthday is to pack all my shit up and get away from everything i know.