Things I Hate About Myself

1. I overthink. Everything. Beyond reason.

2. My hair is too thick. Trust me, that's possible.

3. I unknowingly purchased a Tokyo Police Club song. And I loved it, crap.

4. I have several weak spots in my resolve.

5. I fall in 'like' too easily.

6. I can't decide if I think I have a good(really good) voice or not.

7. I'm an incredible perfectionist.

8. I never do what I tell myself I'm going to do. Ever.

9. I reference TV shows without knowing it, so people think I watch them, and therefore, am cool.

10. I can't just not know something. I'm impatient. I have to know. Now.

New Books

So I got another Sarah Dessen book at Barnes and Noble today. Yes, they're adorable and teenager-y, but they're my guilty pleasure, emphasis on guilty, because everyone reads them. Besides, they're mostly about a girl who meets a guy who sparks some break from her normality and teaches her to be more impulsive and less of a perfectionist about her life.
I mean, every book.

And I made the mistake of (unknowingly) picking one where the main character is already sort of a party girl. The drinking, carefree type who is starting to slide back into old, dangerous habits when some sweet guy saves her and takes her home when she almost passes out. Ick.

But I ramble. The point is, the attitudes of the main characters in novels always rub off on me. Sarah Dessen has a way of making her characters really believable - which, don't get me wrong, is a great skill for a writer to have. But they become so believable that I start to agree with their decisions. Which, in this particular case, isn't the best idea.

So essentially, I'm in a backsliding, carefree mood, and if the friendly, almost-ginger boy from the bookstore were to walk into my kitchen and hit on me, I wouldn't push him away and freak out like the normal me would.

This is not a good thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is this a fairy thing or an angel?" Olivia blurts in her curious-yet-blunt eight-year-old voice, jerking me for the fifty-seventh time from my book. I glance at the necklace she's referring to. It is neither a fairy nor an angel, but an Eagle, Globe and Anchor, the symbol of the Marine Corps, which was given to me as a Christmas present by my parents when I was about twelve. 
When I said she could wear something of mine, she clearly picked it thinking it was something more whimsical. When I explain to her what it is, I can see her in the side of my vision studying the charm; it is losing its appeal.
"Which one do you think is cutest?" She continues before I can put my nose back to the page. She displays the back cover of her chapter book, which depicts a row of different books in the series, all with pictures of different puppy breeds on the covers. After a very, very cursory glance, I tell her the white one.
"So, you think I should have gotten that one?" 
"I don't know." By now I have almost lost my place on the page of my book.
"Or maybe this one?" She is determined to keep my interest.
"Olivia." I lower the thick volume briefly. "I'd really just like to read a little."
She slumps a bit, disappointed. "Okay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Because reading someone else's writing always causes me to narrate my own life in the same way. Had to get that out.

In other news, my package of gifts I sent to Okinawa has arrived, and I received a thank you wall post from one of my friends. This means that within a week or two I'll either be getting one awkward thank-you email from someone, or the same familiar silence. Don't know which I'd prefer.

And a bloodcurdling scream has just erupted from the basement, which means Olivia is in yet another spat with her siblings. Ah, cousins.

Gotta go.

Pathos

Here it is. My sappy, emotionally-charged blog post. These come a couple times a month, and if you are tired of them, you have permission to leave now. I will not judge or take it personally.

We good?

Okay then.

Let's see. To start, I made the terrible decision of watching a couple of those particular How I Met Your Mother episodes where some deep truth is revealed about destiny. Ted expressed his deep longing to find "the one" and Barney, for once, went against his womanizing ways and realized he's in love with Robin.

Then I turned the channel and "I'll Be Home for Christmas" was on, some old-ish movie and of course, the cute guy who kissed a (much younger) Jessica Biel made my heart melt.

Then I went up to my room and fell facedown on my bed and wished some sweet, non-creepy guy would do something cute for me. Just once.

Then I realized how stupid that was.

I've often been tempted to write this post. Many times. Each time, I get right up to the last minute and decide not to.

Which is why I'm still not going to write it now.

But what I will do is give away a tiny piece of what I might have written.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Basically, these semi-monthly, fleeting moments of self-doubt in my confidence that I don't need a guy to be happy weren't always so awful.

All I will say is that I got a short taste. I got a very brief, imperfect glance at what it might be like to have someone care about you. And in the moment, it was pretty great to feel that about myself.

But of course, that moment ended. I looked at it from a much wider angle and realized it was incredibly false. I got my head and heart in the right place and everything was fine again.

But now, these small moments of doubt just plain suck. Because I have something to miss. A flawed substitute for the real thing, yes. But more than nothing.

And that's a bit of what's been keeping me up. I've probably said too much. For my dignity's sake, it's probably better if no one read this far.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you and goodnight. Oh, and Merry Christmas. (I mean that genuinely.) In case anyone's wondering, mine was fantastic.

And So It Begins

And so here I sit during this winter break, listening to as much new music as I can get my hands on and wondering what will become of my life.

I think I'll stalk people's Twitters and Tumblrs and Facebook pages in hopes that staring at them long enough will cause one of them to message me. 

(Speaking of Tumblr, this wouldn't make a bad Tumblr pic. Jussayin'.) 

Why He Left Heaven

So if you ever wonder how much you're worth, 

you should know

that you're the reason

why I'm leaving heaven

I love this song.

It reminds me how incredible it really was that Jesus came to Earth. For...us. Measly little us. Just the very basis of his coming... having to leave paradise... was massive. And songs like this remind me not to forget that. I always love listening to it around Christmas, so I thought you all might too. :)

Checkered Shirt, Part #2

There were only 3 words.

Three.

But they said enough.

I apologize for messing up your favorite song's lyric, but know that as soon as I realized my mistake, I wanted to take the words right back and fix them.

Nevertheless. A tiny, wishful part of me thinks you got it. You saw through the spaces I left in my words (between the lines, as it were) and discovered the small voice that still exists across an ocean.

Dear Boy In the Checkered Shirt,

I haven't written to you in months. Mostly because I'd almost managed to forget how you caused some small, deep, wild part of my soul to take flight.

But of course, as was inevitable, I finally managed to be drawn back to your small world of black and white photos and lonely teenage girls who attempt to be as silver-tongued and distinctive as you, but alas, all sound alike.

I forgot how intriguing you've always been.

Thank goodness you've never known of this page, and never will, because my (literally) shaking fingers need somewhere to release this whirlwind of racing emotions.

Why did I try my hand at being different than those lonely bloggers. Why.

Because I thought I could succeed?

Because I am much too far away now to suffer any embarrassing consequences if my identity were discovered?

Because, try as I might, I can't resist the familiar warmth your rare gift of eloquence brings, even still?

Yes.

Because I hope you know it's me, and I also desperately hope you don't.

Because as much as I have always desired that you see past the girl in the desk across the aisle who shares your love of hand sanitizer, I have remained content with being the much safer, though lonelier...
... acquaintance.

It may be too late for anything but. Nevertheless, I know I will be unable to restrain the urge to return to the black and white photos until your words appear... this time for me.

Silver Necklaces And The Annual Day of Gift Giving

So please just fall in love with me

this Christmas...

Can we just take a minute to appreciate the gorgeous feelings that Michael Buble and Christmas together create. 

For another thing, I went Christmas shopping for a few friends today and as I was browsing the jewelry  section of Kohl's looking for a specific pair of turquoise earrings, I saw those adorable pendant necklaces. 

The ones I'm a sucker for. Just a silver chain and something silvery on the end. There was this one with a snowflake... gah. I died. It actually got me excited to give presents, but also I wondered briefly if anyone is actually getting stuff for me. Woah. 

I just love Christmas, okay?

So much so that my favorite day...probably of the school year... has always been the day before winter break. I wear Christmas-y colors to school and pack my bag of presents for friends/teachers and just spend the day distributing them. Boy, did I knock it out of the park last year. I mean, really. I probably had almost 20 gifts. 

That was a great day. 

Whoever said it was better to give then to receive. They're right. Whoever 'they' are. They've stumbled upon a valuable secret. 

I get really intentional about my gift giving, too. I'm never content with a simple gift card... unless it's a super meaningful gift card. (There's something about Starbucks gift cards that are just perfect for some people.) I think of the perfect, fitting gift for that one person. Then when I find it... it's the most satisfying feeling. The best part, though, is handing it to them, seeing the look on their face when you unexpectedly got them something, and then open it and... no way. You didn't. How....

And you're like, yeah. I did. I made that happen. 

Best feeling ever. 

Unfortunately this year, my resources aren't what they were this year. I don't have a)enough money, b)enough friends that I know super well, or c)enough friends in one place to go as all-out as I did last year.

But notwithstanding! Gift-giving is going to be as spectacular as ever. The gifts I did get are pretty darn epic. Examples:

-Pink pens for this girl in my APUSH class. We don't even know each other that well, but she mentioned like 2 months ago that she really wants some pink pens. 

-A certain TV show-themed mug for a friend. 

-A Batman ornament for my drama teacher (aka my Secret Santa for Drama Club) who love, LOVES Batman.

-Certain TV show-themed suspenders. For a friend. They're that kind of friend.

I can't reveal much more, 'cause I'm not certain who reads this and who doesn't. But after Christmas I'm going to be bragging about... well, the good ones. Some were pure luck, but others were pure genius. Some were a bit of both. 

This was just going to be a post about how romantic and Christmas-y that song at the top makes me feel, but hey. It happens.

Dear Burgundy,

I think you might be my new favorite.

I never thought I would move away from Cobalt Blue. I mean, never. In fact, I swore that you would always be my third favorite at least. But here you are.

It doesn't help that you're soft and warm. Neither does the faint smell of hot dogs.

I'm hope this isn't too forward of me. I don't normally do this. I mean, neither do you. Not that you're afraid or anything. That would be Cobalt Blue. Too afraid to break from normality.

You might just be better than that.

A New Meaning

Tonight I watched 500 Days of Summer for the second time in my life.

I realized a lot of things.

Mainly that once again, it is a metaphor for my life. 

But in a very, very different way than it was last time. 

The part near the beginning. Where Summer averages 14.8 double takes on her daily commute. I get the significance of what someone once said to me. Wow.

 When they're on the train on the way home from the wedding. I tried not to cry.

Where Tom isn't even thinking about it, but while he's sitting on the bus later in the movie because he's managed to get himself up and become an architect, Summer is getting married to someone else.

It's all so sad, yet so great. 

Because even though it's not a happy ending per say, it is.

If I go back and look at my blog post from when I was about to watch the movie for the first time, it's crazy how different I am now. Maybe that's what makes the movie mean something completely different for me this time.

But nevertheless. It's still a great movie.  

The World We Live In

So this morning, at an elementary school in Connecticut....

...an elementary school.

A 24-year old man came in and started shooting.

Kids.

And their teachers.

Some kids in other classrooms heard popping sounds from down the hall. Their teachers, terrified, started herding all of them into closets as fast as they could.

But they're still reporting that at least 26 people are dead. Over half of those were kids.

Parents started showing up, panicked, looking for their kids. They had to tell around 20 parents who showed up that their child was one of those shot. The same kid that had cheerfully waved goodbye and stepped onto the school bus that morning had been shot.

I mean, kids.

That makes me want to cry so much. To think that there are forces in this world that would drive a person to walk into an elementary school one morning and kill children and their teachers.

That makes me angry at that person. Seriously angry. It makes me glad that he's no longer living. I shouldn't feel like that.

That makes me scared for all those other kids. The ones hiding in the closets of their classrooms. The ones that then had to come out and maybe find their favorite teacher dead. Or their best friend.

They have to carry that now. What if the shooter just spawned a whole new generation of deranged sociopaths by his actions? How does that not mess you up from childhood?

I'm really sorry for this slightly really depressing post. But I think it's important that this is what our world is like. If there are people out there who read this blog and think humanity can do everything on its own... that we're all inherently perfect from birth... then where did something like this come from?

This is why we need God. Because the problem of sin, of the world, is real.

I, for one, am going to say some serious prayers tonight. For those families and friends. For all people like that shooter out there. For all of us.

This stuff makes you scared to live, to stand for anything. But it also makes you glad you have the privilege.

#ActorProblems

Here I sit. Waiting to find out which play I've been cast in...that is, if I get cast in any.

Well...I'm pretty sure I will...ish. It's just a matter of if I get my top pick(s).

This is so stressful. I always sink into this unsure, depression state after I audition for plays where I get this feeling like I did something horribly wrong.

So naturally, I'm doing the healthy thing this time and releasing them here. Sorry.

So....miniature rant.

The comedic play I really, REALLY want to get cast in...is a fairly big cast. Two of my good friends also got called back for it. It's written by another friend of mine. But....my two friends were doing a scene together, and, well...they made a rather exciting choice for a scene, which sent us all into hysterics. No lie, it was funny. Really funny.

But it was the VERY scene I'd wanted to do. And I was convinced I could do something different, but just as awesome.

So Friend #1 sits down and says to Friend #2: "I'm SO hoping we get cast for that together, that would be awesome."

Friend #2 says to ME: "I am going to go all the way on (particular stage direction) for whoever I do that scene next with." (I WAS PLANNING ON DOING THAT ALREADY.)

And I'm over here, like:

Well, that never got to happen. They finished with the scenes for that play, and Friend #2 left.

MEANWHILE.

Friend #1 is talking to the writer of this play, and was all, "SO DID YOU LIKE ME AND FRIEND #2'S LITTLE THING WE DID THERE. WASN'T IT HILARIOUS?!" 

I was inwardly seething, thinking,

AND I REALLY HOPE I DON'T HAVE TO KILL SOMEONE LATER IF THESE CASTINGS WORK OUT WEIRDLY.

So...all this is to say that Friend #1 was REALLY good in the other, dramatic play. I think that that play needs Friend #1. 

But the comedy? 

They'll be fine. 

(Author's note-later: I got cast in my second choice play. Friend #1 and Friend #2 are in a play together-of course-but it's not this play to which I was referring in this play. I also talked to Friend #1 about my annoyance and it's (mostly) all good now. But let that happyish ending not distract from the greatness and sheer wit of this post.)

My Other Half I Can't Reach

For the 4th time, I tried to see if I could read my Okinawa yearbook without crying.

No such luck.

Just...read some of these. 

 
 
 
 
                     

 

I still don't know how I can be without these people. 

Because I'm Into Photography and Love My Cat

I was so proud of myself when I got this shot. It involved holding something up beside the lens for him to look at.
I was also standing on the bed.
Just LOOK AT IT.

"Please Excuse My Horrible Face" -Marilyn Monroe

As my brother was watching a sports movie in the other room and I realized my life would have nothing in it for the next few days except homework and school...

...I decided to jazz up 1 minute and 23 seconds of your time with something new and exciting...
...a video.

Consisting of:
-My surprise at the fact that my blog is getting popular
-My newfound appreciation of the adorable holiday Zales commercials
-My lack of purpose
-Yeah. That's about it.

I need to get out or something. Some of you people know where I live. Surprise me.

Just kidding.
Kind of.
Don't feel obligated.

I Find Out That I Can Carry A Tune

Today I had this weird realization that this blog is going to look a whole lot different if I ever get a boyfriend. 

Awkward. 

Anyway.

Thankfully, I have things to post about besides teenage girl problems. For example: tonight I sang in front of people and played the ukulele because the piano wasn't working. And guess what?

A few people actually liked it. No, seriously. 

I mean, I know I can carry a tune. I'm not one of those people that's all, "Oh, I can't sing. No. I mean, really. I don't have a good voice."...and then goes all Adele on everyone. No. 

But on the other hand, I'm (obviously) not Adele either. I mean, I'm decent. 

I guess. 

But not GREAT. Per say. I get that. It's okay.

But guys. When I finished my voice-cracking, chest-cold, erratic-strumming version of I'm Yours, walked back to my friends, and said, "Happy?" people were actually cheering a little. 

And that made me feel a)like they were just being polite, and then b)that maybe I actually wasn't half bad. 

So I'm allowing myself to pat myself on the shoulder for mentally kicking myself and getting the whole, first-time-singing-in-front-of-people thing out of the way. 

Phew. If only I could make myself do everything for the first time that way, I would be a lot bolder. 

 

Too Much For One Day

After tonight I want nothing more than to play my ukelele and piano and belt songs as if I have the angelic voices of the teenage girls with straightened hair and flowered dresses who sang at the Student Expression night tonight.

But then I realize it's 10:00, and my family is going to bed, and I have homework still to finish, and...
...oh yeah. I don't have their voices, either.

So that leaves me with my thoughts.

But that's a little too much of an interesting place to reside as of now. I have literally received so many mental messages today, I don't know what to do with them all.

Nicknames. Oh dear. Just when I thought I was done.
Tea. To keep or not to keep.
Hair. Just do what I want. I don't have time for this.
Irony.
Oh, the irony.
The cruel, heartbreaking, sitcom-worthy irony.
Distractions.
That don't work.

I'm still sticking with the fact that the Returned Memory is right.
Hesitantly.

But now there's also this whole new strangely similar puzzle piece to fit in. I don't know where it fits, or if it's supposed to go where I thought the other one went, or if it goes to a different puzzle altogether. I don't know.

I. Don't. Know. 

But I'm going to end on a lighthearted note and say to the first Wizard, you are indeed worthy of your title.

Maybe It's Time

Tonight I realized that it's no use.

I have no right to this. I can't compete.

I mean, let's be honest here. I can't even pretend to be competition for...
...well, anyone.

And to the Returned Memory: you're right, sadly.
I'm just going to force myself to figure something else out.

The only problem is...I don't know what else to do. I don't think I can figure something else out. If this isn't going to work....

...then I think I might just be done. For a good while, anyway.

I guess it'll get easier when I find a way to stop waiting for things that aren't coming.

Okay Wait A Second There

I told myself I was done blogging for the night. Ergh.

But listen, you.

Being happy all the time for only one reason...that was all very well and good.

But that's all gone downhill now, don't ya think?

I mean, yeah. In the moments, I was on top of the world.

But now? I can't look back on that.

Because I'll either miss it(which is no longer an option), or I'll regret it ever happening.

And I know what most people would say. Most of the hipster, tumblr, stereotypical world.

"Never regret something that once made you happy."

Don't fall for that.

Because there's a difference between just getting happiness for a little while and waiting for a better happiness. Holding out for something that's going to last longer than a breathmint.

When you look back on something that was just momentary, and know that you could have, should have held out for a better deal?

That's not something that's fun to look back on.

I'd have thought you would get that. At least, understand that for me.

Maybe not.

If you can look back with satisfaction, if you can smile and say that you're glad it all happened that way...

...then I'm glad it went downhill before it was too late.

Dear T.E.,

I promise to never cling to you like Velcro when you're around your other friends.

I promise to never spam you with annoying mail.

I promise to never flaunt our awesomeness with pictures of cartoon shapes every other day.

I promise to never, ever be a stereotypical teenage girl.

I promise to never overreact if you have a good time without me.


I promise to always be happy for you.


Even if that happiness means I'll never get to fulfill these promises.

Dear Possibly Lonely,

I see where you're coming from 
'cause I've been there myself

Dear Unfortunately Smudged,

Why do you keep coming back?

Despite my best efforts, you are fighting my current of logical consciousness and reappearing in a series of phantasmagorical scenes characterized by slow motion and wide eyes. My dream the other night was undoubtably what started it all. If you hadn't appeared there and done what you did without sufficient cause, I might have managed to put you out of my mind until the nervously approaching day.

But now I find that the heart-bumping nudge has come back in that five minute span when I know I'll have to throw away my milk carton in a certain trash can, or when I'm pretending to wait for Ryan Gosling to descend the staircase when in reality I know that my more intent focus is on the circle to my left.

It's maddening, being in the position I am. It allows for just enough realistic possibility in those dreamlike scenes to be slightly heartbreaking.

But what am I going to do, pick a new talent?

Macro Lens

I like noticing the really, really little things.

The way we brace our thumb against the freezer door handle to help open the refrigerator.

The way, when we're in a moving vehicle with a bunch of stuff we're going to have to carry, we subconsciously get our arms in the right positions for lifting it all as we reach our destination.

The way, even if it's not out of place, we touch our hair habitually to make sure it's where it's supposed to be.

The way we have that ideal percentage of how far we zip our jacket.

The way Converse sound different than Vans on a sidewalk. Or Toms. Or Uggs.

The way we have at least one thing in our lives that we always do in a certain, unspoken order. (I always, always put my left shoe on first.)

I live for stuff like that.

The Not-Quite Phase

I thought the moon was full tonight.

I could have sworn it was. It was shining brilliantly and looking so perfectly spherical in the cloudless sky. But at a closer glance, it wasn't.

It was close. So close. There was this one part that wasn't quite there on one side, and it was almost full and whole and perfect, but not quite.

Today was like that.

Shut Up, Subconscious

Hi, you. It's me again.

Yeah, I know you're not that keen on us communicating or anything. But you should know.

You invaded my dream last night. I was literally dreaming about a wonderful night at the theater, with one of my oldest and greatest friends, when suddenly you showed up.

Out. Of. Nowhere. 

I didn't know what to do, so I acted like you were just some regular old friend I hadn't seen in a while. I walked over, smiled, and gave you a hug. You played along and did the same while I dragged you over to some corner. I said I was sorry about your recent relationship problems. I meant it. You thanked me and asked how things were going. It was an awkward, almost-normal check in with someone I hadn't seen in a while.

Neither of us actually mentioned anything that had to do with the two of us.

But as I haltingly led you over to my friend, trying to make the situation semi-normal, even though you were eyeing my friend cautiously, I realized that everything was almost...fine.

There was no leftover anger. No fireworks. You still looked and smelled like your old self, but I felt nothing when I gave you a hug. No animosity, but nothing drawing me in.

When I woke up, I felt somewhat wistful, I think. I wondered, if that had happened in real life, would it play out like that? Would we be capable of such a polite, cursory reunion? Would I be able to feel that everything was okay? Normal?

The fact that you barged your way into my subconscious bothers me a bit, too. I mean, I thought I had established that you had been dusted out of all the corners.

I think it's time you left for good, if it's all the same to you.

Dear Coree,

This is for you.

Because you love giraffes.

I mean, love.

And, like the short-necked giraffe, I know you feel that you don't always fit with everyone else, and so you're afraid to speak up. 

The way you don't always fit is what makes you unique. 

So this song made me think of you, and to remind you that you're awesome, and you can be as extraordinary as you want. 

Keep up the good work. :)

Disclaimer: Do not apply all of the giraffe's habits. The parts about the giraffe being murderous don't remind me of you. Well...no. Just the general principle of a giraffe. 

Dear Three-Letter-Word,

Stop it.

Stop stabbing me in the heart.

That has been known to kill people.

Just...no...please...

Stop...I can't take it any more.

50 Years Ago,

...a woman named Susan Omega Smith was born.

Now she's Susan Omega Erdelatz, and she's also my mom.

Thank goodness that worked out.

Now, at the lovely half-century point, I'd just like to take a moment to reminisce on what an amazing, godly, beautiful, loving woman she has become.

When I was in grade school, every day for as long as I can remember she would be waiting for me when I got home from school...with a snack and a hug.

In fifth grade, she visited my class to share her nutritious snack tips. As we all made our own trail mix and smoothies, a kid leaned over and said, "Abby, your mom is like, so cool." And ten-year-old me beamed with pride and said, "I know."

To this day, she impresses everyone who meets her, including any of my friends who come over to be greeted with her southern hospitality.

She's told me to sit up, shut up, listen up, straighten up, eat up, and woman up...because she's my mom.

And she's wiped my nose, dried my tears, bought me training bras, held my hair back when I'm vomiting, kept my secrets, laughed with me, cried with me, and prayed with me...because she's my mom.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

So Happy Birthday, Mommy. May all your decorating dreams for our house come true.

Love you.

What If We Knew

So I had this realization literally ten minutes ago while walking my dog. (Where I apparently get all of my best inspiration.)

It's something I've pondered briefly before, but I was thinking about it in detail and realized I should seriously write a play out of it. Or a movie. Or a novel. Or something.

Ready? This is it.

What if you could know who you were going to marry? 

Think about it. What if you could get a sneak peak? A look into the proverbial crystal ball. 

Just be able to see them. Where they are right now. See what they look like. Maybe you would even know their name, but at a glance, you'd at least know if it was someone you'd known all your life and never given a second look. Or someone you previously dated? Or someone you'd never met? 

Think about that. Picture it. What it would be like. How long you would want to take to memorize their face. 

Now, how would that change how you lived? 

I realize this is where it could get controversial. 

But personally, I would be a lot more careful with myself. 

Because whoever you date in the future, you'd be able to say, "This is going to be someone else's husband/wife someday. Not mine." 

As much of a pain as that knowledge might be at times, it would also be a bit of a relief at times, right? 

And you'd realize that there are probably other people out there who could be with yours.

And you could only hope that they're holding out for you.

Now, I realize this is impossible. But in a sense, it's kind of the truth. There is someone out there. You may know them. You may not. But somewhere out there is someone who's going to be yours. 

You can't see them yet. But they're very much there. 

Technicolor Eyes,

You know, if you had just said the word at the beginning, I wouldn't be in this mess.

It would be delightful to say that everything has worked itself out.

But then there would be no story.

I can't escape this now, 

unless you show me how...

Pardon My Realness

I'm going to break the mold here and do an actual post about my life that is straight up and not cryptic.

Yes, it's scary, but hey, what's life without a little danger. 

So we went to Target tonight to buy things to fill our boxes for the Operation Christmas Child thing they're doing at church. You know, where you pick a gender and age range for your child, and fill the designated shoebox with all kinds of nifty things for a kid in a third-world country that will receive your shoebox for Christmas.

This actually has some kind of meaning for me this year since I went on a mission's trip to Cambodia this summer, met a ton of adorable children in a village who looked about 5 years younger than their actual ages, picked up 3 or 4 of them at a time because they just wanted to hug me, and braided all the little girls' hair.

So as I was pushing my cart along, looking for a makeup pouch to fill with art supplies for my 10-14 year old girl, I spritzed some of Taylor Swift's Wonderstruck perfume on myself on my way down the fragrance isle just for kicks. It made me cough, and with those hacks of overpoweringly sweet mist came a realization.

It struck me how pointless our lives are as first-world Americans.

We, with our lines of customized celebrity perfume, and our fluorescent Kitchen-Aid mixers, and our weekly planners, and our sticky notes for organizing all the unimportant details of our lives, and our hair products, and blu-ray DVD players, and magazines full of people doing pointless, everyday things like wearing something red or going to get Starbucks with their significant other.

What's it all amount to, in the grand scheme of living? 

Not a whole lot is the answer.

And I'm not entirely sure where I am going with this train of thought, which is (again) rather frightening.

But thinking of all the smiling, barefoot kids in Cambodia who spend their days just wanting to go to school so they can learn and have useful things inside their heads seems a bit more worthwhile to me than the latest 32% thinner Apple product at the moment.

The Silent Break

...Every once in a while those around me turn aside to face the others around them, and I am left standing in a slightly awkward space that only I inhabit. 

But for once, I didn't mind. 

In this small, brief pocket of solitude, I observed my surroundings for a moment, making sure my smile didn't fade too much.

And then I saw it. 

Of course I knew I would. I knew that it would be there, practically sneering in my face even when I was facing deliberately away. 

It was too late to turn away now, but I did anyway, gasping for breath and trying to stop the stinging in my eyes. I stared ahead, not actually seeing anything in front of me. Thought seriously about bolting. It took a few moments of silent, awful stillness to recover. 

The pocket of solitude broke, and just like that the world drew me back in, and I was forced to jerk out of my small moment of weakness. 

What It's Like In My Head

"I think in poetry and in colors and bits of sound and it really is beautiful, having the mind of a writer, but sometimes it really just hurts."

-Coree Stuart

Friend, you have spoken words of truth. 

Dear Wizards of the Strings,

Don't get me wrong. I would love to tell you everything.

But I'm afraid that winding path just might lead me off a cliff. 

Just so you know, however, you've made it extremely difficult to know what's going on inside my own head.

If only you hadn't been so nice, it would have been easier to resist your pleas for me to release my bottled-up emotions, but my wonderfully logical brain reminded me how horribly that would complicate my already confusing existence.

So all this is to tell you.

Don't give up. Maybe some of these knots will untangle themselves (ha!) and I'll be free to sit down with you and enlighten you as to the nature of whole mess.

When You Go in For a Hug and Your Cheeks Brush

It's really a shame that this is a Spotify link, and you have to download Spotify to listen to it.

Download it anyway if you can't listen to it. It's free anyway. And I love it.

And this song...gah. So adorable. 

That's really all I can coherently say at the moment. 

Mind-Boggling

People have told me I'm weird. And confusing.

Little do they know how true it is.

I confuse even myself.

For example.

Why did I wear a sweater dress today?! I knew how it would make me feel. Didn't I tell myself I wanted to be different? But then I wanted to be the same. So I wore it. And it looked great, gosh darn it. I really am the same. 

See how that makes no sense?

And even though I'm fairly certain I liked Imagine Dragons all by myself, I can't be certain I liked them first. But there's nothing I can do about that. 

And while I was all busy in August being lonely and focused on pointless things and pointless people, other people were out there living their lives, and I missed out on both sides of the Pacific Ocean, and now it's too late because I'm just the kid who came into the middle of stuff, not the one who was there for that-one-time. 

And I like being happy. Really, I do.

But sometimes it would be great if I could just be truly sad. 

And I'm afraid that the one thing that just might work...might work too well, and then where would I be?

We can't just give up on happiness, now can we. 

Of course not. 

But I think someone took my seat. 

I'm just going to sit there and doodle and play my instruments and go on walks and occasionally sing if no one's around, and sooner or later someone will look over and wonder why I'm like that. 

You never know. 

That Dangerous Kind of Happy

Both of the above things depict (almost accurately) my extreme joy that I am experiencing currently.

Yes, for no apparent reason.

Just wondering, am I the only one this happens to?

The sun is shining. At this moment, I have nothing drastic hanging over my head. I am belting, at the top of my lungs, every loud, happy song I can find on my Spotify playlists. 

And for some reason, the world isn't big enough to hold my happiness. 

I literally don't know why these feelings happen. Or how to recognize the symptoms before it's too late. I probably should apologize for anyone I've messaged on Facebook during these moments, because they all wonder what on earth is wrong with me. 

But you know what? I don't even care right now. I just want to go belt some epic song from the top of a mountain or something. 

I'M. SO. WEIRD. 

Things I'm In the Mood For

#1: A roadtrip.

I just had a conversation about this, so that's likely what inspired this need. But I honestly believe that it is one of the greatest things to do with one's time.

#2: Hot chocolate.

It's the beverage that's proven to warm you faster and keep you warm longer on a cold day. But I've already brushed my teeth. Darn.

#3: Playing my ukelele.

Actually, this I can do as soon as I go upstairs. My best friend is amazing for giving me possibly the greatest birthday gift ever. I'm unhealthily obsessed with the thing now.

#4: A good conversation.

The kind where you have just enough witty banter mixed with an actual life discussion. The kind where you get stuff off your chest. The kind where when you and the other person feel that it's coming to a close, you get disappointed and try and think of ways to stall and keep it going longer. Because you just want to keep talking.

#5: A hug.

But then, I always feel like a good hug. I just love them.

Anyways. Hope my most impromptu post ever was enjoyed. 

Most Inspiring Song I Have Yet To Encounter

I didn't name my band after an animal,

but I can stay out all night

like Sacagawea in a paint fight...

For some reason, this is my new favorite song.

Dear Girl With the Colorful Laugh,

Little did I know how much we had in common!

Our mutual misfortune for having liked the most inconvenient guys. Our love of leather boots and scarves. Our taste for antiquities and hipster bands that play in bookstores.

My heart leaped into my throat when you said what I'd been thinking for weeks about a certain someone.

I love that you didn't even mind when I got so into my monologue about blogging and musical instruments that we missed not one, but three turns to get to my house. In fact, it was probably the most hilarious part of the drive.

I was serious about that venture to the second floor of that bookstore downtown, and I know you were too.

This will not be the last of our adventures.

And I can already predict several winks from across the room within the next few days pertaining to our ever-growing volume of inside jokes and secrets.

For Love of Happy Songs

We should get jerseys, 'cause we make a good team

But yours would look better than mine, 

'cause you're out of my league....

Dear Black and White,

It's times like right now I have the newfound urge to let you brighten my day.

For example, now would be a great time for you to email me in a foreign accent like you do and ask me how my day was. Using colorful vocabulary, we'd discover some new detail we seem to have in common.

Yes. That sounds great.

Another one of those conversations is in store, I believe.

In A Perfect World

Something that would be awesome: 

A romance like in 500 Days of Summer...

Which can include, but is not limited to:

Picnics

Music sharing

Ikea browsing

Invented games

Really, really stupid inside jokes

Handwritten notes

Amusement park trips (intense roller coasters required)

Practical jokes

Creativity for creativity's sake

Mutual eating of messy foods

Sitting on benches without saying anything

Etcetera.

I wonder if those still exist. If so, put me down for one. 

Dear Three-Letter-Word,

I hate your existence, yet at the same time, I wish that I could embody part of it.

The complexity of that very statement should allude to what you, in fact, are, but at the same time I hope it doesn't. 

Sigh. 

It's so sad how you probably don't even fully realize what you have in your tightly-clenched grasp. 

Just calm down and start... fading ... already. 

Like... now would be good. 

There are only so many months in a year, you know.

Let's Get Real For A Second

Hey guys. You know something I really, really love?

Dancing.

Not break-dancing, or ballet, or that disgusting stuff they do at homecoming. Those are all very well and good in their own venues, don't get me wrong.

But I'm talking about the old fashioned kind. A guy and a girl. Not the arms-around-the-neck kind they do at dances. The kind Cinderella danced with Prince Charming to.

Ugh. I sound so horribly cheesy and female.

But I literally daydream about that. All the time.
And I love it more than anything when, once in a blue moon, someone will randomly start dancing with me.

Isn't that weird?

Gah. It is weird.

Pardon me.

Denim and the Occasional Epiphany

Some people already know this about me, but I love walking by myself. 

(Usually it's only on those rare nights that I get out of dish duty by oh-so-kindly offering to walk the dog, but it's still the best thing ever.)

I always select a playlist that matches my desired mood and just look at things around me.

And sometimes, I'll have these very brief moments, where....

where....

It's weird. I can't actually explain. 

But for example, this one afternoon, I was just taking the dog for a brief stroll to the corner of my street and back. I had this song playing:

(Don't watch the video; the words of the song are irrelevant. Just listen while reading.)

It was the peak of brilliant fall. The trees were exploding with orange and the air was sunny and faintly cool. I was wearing, for the first time all year, my beat-up black Converse. My jeans were my loosest ones and the denim was slightly thicker. For some reason, those jeans feel the most like real jeans to me; they're not tight and stretchy and thin. My shirt was just a loose plaid flannel. My hair was, for once, down and falling around my shoulders in all its wavy thickness. 

I glanced down at my loose jeans and my faded, dirty shoes and realized how much I didn't look like a typical teenage girl. 

And all of a sudden, I was okay with myself.

Not that I am constantly hating my appearance. But in that moment, I knew that my hair was tangled and my skin wasn't at its best and my clothes were rather plain. And for some reason, I loved it. I was comfortable and breathing deeply and I was a teenage girl who, for a moment, didn't care about any of the things teenage girls are supposed to care about. For some unfathomable reason, I couldn't care less about anything. I was just happy and comfortable in my own skin.  

Then I looked up at the tree branches draping over the sidewalk. I could reach up and touch the green-and-yellow leaves that were about to detach from their stems and float to the ground. I thought for a flashing, time-traveling nanosecond about all the processes that were running in my body all at once. It came to me in this revelation that allowed me to see behind its simple facade and almost fathom the depth of the universe that existed behind it:

I was a living, breathing, human being. 

And for these few seconds, I was just so glad that I was alive and me. 

I know I sound like such a transcendentalist. But like I said, it's almost impossible to explain the feelings themselves. They only come for a few seconds and then leave, but in those few moments, everything just kind of rushes into me and I feel...something.

So I just thought I'd try to put it into words. For myself, mostly.

Sorry if it didn't work. :)

Around A Corner

I've acted since grade school, so obviously I've been on a few different stages in my day.

But the transition from Okinawa's to Virginia's stage was massive.

Backstage, they were all preparing to do their pre-show energy-boosting rituals, as all performers do, when I suddenly realized the absence of the Energy Ball routine, the one I'd always done with fellow cast members before every high school show I'd ever performed. Someone just kind of looked at me, said it would create the wrong type of mood for our show, and then they all proceeded to start a different ritual than I was used to.

And like a cannonball right to the gut, the fact that for the first time, I was performing with a different family than my own, struck me full force.

Not gonna lie. Until moving here at least, I hardly ever cry. But my eyes welled up right there and then. 

No matter how comfortable I had become with these kids, they weren't my family. They couldn't be. 

Back in the dressing room, I was trying to sniffle my now freely flowing tears back in when a kind soul entered to give me a hug. He said how supportive everyone still was of me, and how they all would grow to be as close with me as I used to be with my Okinawa family, and it was so, so calming. 

So even though you don't read this, kind soul, thank you.

And then, of course, I went onstage and dominated with everyone like we actors do.

I've officially been adopted into a new family. 

Stars and Freezing Feet

I can with confidence say that missing homecoming for this weekend was one of the better decisions of my life.

It wasn't just the fact that the place was like an overload of the most perfect-looking, brilliantly-colored, trance-inducing trees and mountains and air EVER.

Or the zipline going at car-speeds into a freezing lake.

Or the hugest sky you've ever seen completely and utterly filled with stars, just for staring at for twenty minutes at night while you bask in God.

Or the hot, sweaty, energy-filled, screaming worship sessions that literally cost you your vocal chords by the end of 3 days.

Or the laughing, smiling, most amazing and connectable people you've ever met and can't believe you haven't met before. 

It was all of it together.

I loved every minute. 

The pounding on the tables as the food was brought out at every meal. The jumping up and down as we belted Bon Jovi whether or not we knew all the words, and then clinging to each other's shoulders and swaying back and forth to Tenth Avenue North the next moment. 

The hysteric screaming as we plunged into the freezing lake at midnight, only to dash madly right back to the hot tub to thaw and start a dance circle right there and then. 

The masses of people who stood up to receive Jesus, and the completely unexpected tears that came when I heard all my new friends profess that they had turned a corner.

Everything. 

I'm sad it's over. 

But summer camp will be epic.

Please don't fight these hands that are holding you....

Dear Technicolor Eyes,

I have to admit that you are utterly captivating.

I can't say any more than that, even though I know there's no chance you're out there. 

But you know how you said that sometimes someone just strikes some perfect chord in you, and you don't know why, but you're drawn in? 

Something like that must have happened. 

Granted, with one three-letter word, a word that seems to have been implanted 2 or 3 months prior, you had the ability to drop me from the celestial height to which I'd already floated. 

But for some reason, it didn't stop that perfect chord from ringing in my ears. 

Dear Unfortunately Smudged,

You're not all that great, really.

Well, maybe you are a bit.

 But my soul was all in tangled knots worse than you get in earbud strings, and my heart had this awful, open wound on it...

 ...and you were the closest thing I could find to a Band-Aid. 

So I grabbed for it, but your arm snatched back, and instead of letting myself fall and just scrape my knees, I kept reaching, and now I'm afraid I'm going to fall into that thorn bush. 

You are that thorn bush, I'm afraid. 

I realized this morning that though I mentally nod with agreement when the old man in the western movie says it's better to fight with words than fists, for some reason, you leave me lost for acceptable, heavy-hitting words, and my deep desires to hit things and look tough just come out. Sorry. 

But anything I can think of to say that might pack the same punch as my tiny fist just sounds weak. And I don't want to look weak around you. 

Ironically, it makes me look weaker. And now you see this pathetic side of me that's just grasping at straws. Instead of turning over smoothly, I feel like all the pebbles of my sanity are just slipping through my fingers, and they're all hitting you, and instead of catching them, you're just letting them hit you, and then I've just given you a headache. 

This isn't my essence, I promise...

...but there's one too many bruises on your head, so you're afraid to look for it. 

Listening To This Song at This Very Moment

This too shall pass...

Grrrr. I wish I could have something cognitive and relevant and acceptable to say. 

I wonder if anyone even reads this anymore. 

Wouldn't that be depressing if I thought I had all these readers and it turns out it's just my mom. 

Well. In any case. 

I wish I was less awkward.

 My life would just go so much more smoothly. People would probably like me a lot more. I'd like myself more instead of having all these hundreds of daily moments where I can't believe my own stupidity and want to stab myself. 

*colossal sigh*

I'd be even more boring than I already am, though. So I guess this is my best bet.

Sadly. 

Twirly Dresses

Seeing all these heart-wrenching pictures of my Okinawa friends going to homecoming makes me wonder about myself.

Why do I like dances so much, anyway?

It isn't because I always have a date to go with.

And it can't be all the club music and awkward sections of the dance floor.

So what?

I think it's a combination of girly motivations, the highest one being I just love having some excuse to feel pretty.

There's just something about a girl in a dress that makes people treat her just a little differently. 

Maybe I'm wrong, and maybe it's just my stupid imagination that says that. But something about it makes me feel pretty for a couple hours. And as corny as it is, I adore oohing and ahhing over other people's dresses too. So when I gush "You look so pretty!" with everyone else, I really do mean it. 

And of course there is always the faint, distant, ray of hope that some random boy will pay attention to me.

Maybe it's the dress, maybe it's just that I'm a cool person, but somewhere amongst the pounding pop songs there is one slow R&B song, and they pluck up the courage to ask me to dance. 

Lemme tell you. When the right guy asks that, it makes a girl feel like she's the most special darn thing in the world. 

I would give anything to have any and all of those feelings today...in Okinawa.

Sigh. 

I guess it was probably a good call to spend the weekend rock-climbing in the mountains than trying to recreate it with a bunch of kids I have no personal connection to yet.