In Review

The tradition is, surprisingly, continuing. I have this blog to thank for many things, and a massive one is keeping myself accountable in one way or another. One way that's manifested itself is in keeping actual, real-life New Year's Resolutions. Last year I pulled out 2012's and saw how I did. Now it's 2013's turn to get scrutinized. Then 2014 will proudly step up and have its moment of limelight.

So, without further ado....

2013 Resolutions

-Get a date to prom Check. 

-Don't stay in America all year Unfortunately, no.

-Get abs  (Oh please.) I actually had like, a 2-pack. :D

-Have a swimsuit-worthy body by summer Check.

-Keep up daily Bible readings, even in times of inclement weather and schedule changes Not every day, but most.

-Don't be afraid to wear earrings Check.

-Grow out hair at least 2 inches *looks at end of braid* Probably not.

-Get a drivers license. Seriously. Wow. Nope. 

-Have a Top 3 (or 5) list for colleges Check. 

-Spend more one-on-one time with specific friends and family members I think so. 

In conclusion: I am equal parts awesome and total, utter, failure. But anyways. ON TO THE FUTURE.

2014 Resolutions

Graduate with a GPA of 4.15

Get a date to senior prom

Find a modest bathing suit

Journal more during Bible-reading

Get elbow-length hair

Be happy with the college I choose

Go on more adventures

Keep in touch with the important people

Continue to not swear 

*raises wine glass filled with grape juice*

Let 2014 begin.

Dear Princess,

Look.

I get it. I do. I'm a girl. I have a Twitter. And common sense.

Unfortunately, I think you've been told a rather flawed version of the story.

The truth is, I'm not the villain who stabbed a friend in the back. I'm just someone who tried to stand up to a dragon for what she believed in and it turned around and breathed fire in her face.

And I'm not your prince's... temptress.
I'm his best friend.

You see an unfamiliar figure on the distant castle wall and you think it's an enemy, but in reality I'm just the knight who was left behind to keep everyone safe.

Please don't shoot me.

Red Clocks

I keep telling myself that I'll be glad in a week or two.

Because it a week or two, this will all be over.

The same questions being asked of me every five minutes.
The same persistent nagging in the back of my head.
The same overwhelming fears washing over me at night.
The same frustrated attempts that end in mediocrity.

But really, will it be over?

Will any of this be over until I'm gone?

The column of red clocks won't be there to remind me that a deadline is days away.

But I don't know if I'll ever get them out of my head.

Delayed December Reaction

Every year, it feels like Christmas later and later. The whole festive, Christmas-y spirit doesn't hit me until it's almost the big day, and by this year I was wondering if it would even hit me at all until midway through present-opening. That kills me. My favorite part of Christmas has never been the songs, decorations, peppermint mochas, or any of that crap. It's always been the feeling... the weeks leading up to the 25th, where everywhere you go, there's red and green and lights and scarves and Nat King Cole or Michael Buble on the radio.

And if growing up means every year I get less of that, well then it's Reason #576 why I'd rather not grow up.

But last night, as I was musing over the surprisingly happy ending to the day (consisting of a lovely Skype call, a successful English paper, and reuniting with an old friend over, yes, a peppermint mocha), suddenly, it hit me. I honestly think it may have been in the shower. Or when I was making my "Holiday Box" for calculus.

When I woke up this morning, Christmastime had struck. I was festive.

I fully enjoyed the Christmas music as I was getting ready, despite it being the same songs I listen to every year. I loved the fact that I accidentally got glitter all over my jeans, and that I was wearing snow boots, and I blasted Michael Buble in my kitchen at 7:00am. And loved it.

And literally, it hasn't stopped all day. I've been unnaturally bubbly and excited, all because the Christmas spirit finally hit me. I gave a friend their Christmas present and watched them freak out (because let's face it, I'm the best gift-giver of anyone I know), and I couldn't wait for tomorrow, which will be my Annual Day of Gift-Giving To All My Friends.

In a nutshell: it's officially Christmastime, guys. It happened overnight. I'm in the spirit as of this morning.

Let it snow.

Secrets: An Update

My friend's secret was that she was my Secret Santa for the drama Christmas party.



*sigh*


I feel equally stupid and disappointed.

Dear Green Bandana,

I will never stop missing you.

Phantasmagorical Retrospect

I had this beautiful dream several months ago, and I wrote it down, but I actually think it's worth sharing. It was during a time when deep down, I think I was really sad, but I didn't realize it. You know how that sometimes is? And I had this dream and woke up breathless.

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

I'm at the top of a long set of stone steps cut into the side of a cliff. 

I'm on a landing. In front of me is open space. Lots of it. I am high up, looking over the French countryside. To my left is a locked wooden door.

The sky is dark. 

Above me thunder rumbles. The door stays locked. As I look out at the miles of space in front of me, the first heavy drops spatter the landing at my bare feet.

The rain begins to pour.

I realize, clearer than ever, that nothing is right. But it's okay. I'm completely alone. The dark and rolling sky seems to me as though it is my own soul, as though it was turned into the sky and painted above me. 

And so thunder crashes and buckets of rain keep falling on me and around me, and violins wail somewhere in the background and I sink to my knees and scream at the sky. 

It's the saddest of scenes.

But it's so, so beautiful. 

Secrets

Best feeling ever: When your friend scampers up to you, giggling, and tells you there's some awesome news about you that they're dying to tell you about.

Worst feeling ever: When your friend scampers up to you, giggling, and tells you there's some awesome news about you that they're dying to tell you about....but...they...can't.

Um.

No.

Because as soon as the words I can't tell you come out of someone's mouth, everyone's mind always jumps to the one thing they hope to be told. Whatever thing they lay in their beds at night and dream about being told. They think of that.

It's not that, is it?

Oh my gosh. What if it is.

It's probably not.

But wait.

Tell me now.

Remember when I posted 10 things about myself I hated? Remember #10? That I always have to know stuff. Well, case in point. Future husband, don't ever tell me something unless you're actually going to tell me.

In a nutshell: this is too excruciating to bear. It feels as if those four words triggered some unknown organ to kick into overdrive, and now it's about to burst from my skin. I can feel the anxious pressure from inside my bones and ligaments and now it's threatening to make me explode, and little frantic pieces of Abby will come raining down on everyone's heads.

Dear Penelope, Charlie, and Willow,

Watching you bat your little paws against the smeary glass at Petsmart and mew at my fingertips grazing the walls of your habitat, wishing I could hold you, yes, made me cry and wish I could take 3 kittens home for no reason, but you also brightened my day considerably.

You small animals are so incredibly therapeutic. All you need is to look at them. Sit on the dirty floor of Petsmart and let them melt you with their soul-penatrating gazes. Watch them chase each other's tails one minute and curl up in furry, sleeping bundles the next.

Suddenly you're sitting there squealing at the glass windows, making a fool of yourself, and you think, "Wait, didn't I have problems a minute ago? I can't fathom where they went."

And did you guys see the other girl? The one with the green and gray scarf, who was taking Snapchat videos of your antics. Keep an eye out if she comes back for you. Well, Willow at least. She's a good one, that chick. She'll take great care of you, and let you romp on her flowery bedspread and read you stories about Peter Pan and you'll have great fun chasing her scarves across the floor. And I'll come over and visit you, and we can all play together.

Sorry I had to leave, and know that it did in fact break my heart. But her and I were so full of peppermint mochas and happy energy that we couldn't stay forever.

I'll tell you guys a secret. That girl's my new favorite buddy. I could share steamy drinks and gleeful car rides with her any day, and I always come home with my heart fuller than it was that morning.
Kittens included or not.

So if she shows up again, feel lucky. Very lucky.

#MCM Forever



Not too many people know the real story behind the cat that rubs against their legs when they walk through my front door, or why the literal best part of my day is when I get to curl up on my bed with him.

Travel back with me, if you would. The year is 2003. Think what you were doing in March of that year. Probably in elementary school. I was around 6. I was doing my homework that night like a studious little child and my mother was taking out the trash. Outside there was a light drizzle. She was opening the back door, huge bags in tow, when I heard her yell with surprise. There was a black stray cat in our neighborhood, and it apparently had chosen our back stoop to spend the night. When my mom opened the door, she had leaped across her path and away into the night.

Turning her head to look at where the cat had jumped from, my mom gasped loudly. "Guys, there's kittens!"

In the damp leaves beside our back stoop, there were two brown and white kittens in the drizzle. We called our neighbors (who had some cat experience over), wrapped the kittens in blankets, and gave them some milk. I got to hold one. It fit perfectly in my tiny 6-year-old hands, mewing pitifully. We left them there, because our neighbors said the mother was probably moving the litter and it was best to let her come back for those two.

Morning came. One kitten was left. We built a little shelter for it and waited for the mother to come back. But a whole day and night passed. She never returned. We finally brought the kitten inside to care for it, where I dubbed him Peppermint, after a kitten in a storybook I had read. Weeks passed and my mom continued to wake up in the middle of the night to bottle-feed the 3-week old kitten, all the while emailing my dad while he was in Iraq to report on our new guest. After a month or two, my little brother and I dared to ask if we would get to keep him. After a small pause, my mom smiled. She thought we could.

And so through every move, to relatives' houses, overseas and back, vacations, Pepper (as his name was shortened to become) has been the original 5th Erdelatz. He has the strongest personality of any animal I've ever met and has put up with me and my brother shoving him onto beds, tossing him outside when it snows, crushing him under the weight of our hugs, and so much more.

A few weeks after we moved to Stafford (a little over a year ago), Pepper went outside one Saturday afternoon and didn't come back. My mom told me on Monday that she hadn't seen him for two days and I immediately started pacing the neighborhood calling his name. I cried every day he didn't come back until Thursday at 6:15 am, he appeared at the front door and walked right back in.

Ever since then, I've been terrified of losing him. I wish I could take him to college with me. But I'm so scared I'm going to come home one weekend and...he'll just not be there. He's over 10 years old. How much longer is he going to live? He's gotten lost. He's gotten in fights. He still gets himself into trouble all the time.

He's the best part of my day. When I collapse on my bed after a hard day, he always jumps up, crawls onto my stomach and just curls up into a warm, purring ball. There is nothing more soothing than a purring cat next to you. Nothing.



People I Miss

Bailey Lisk- I keep wanting to Skype you, and I keep being busy, and I feel awful because I don't deserve such a wonderful friend as you.

Coree Stuart- I missed Skyping Tuesday today, didn't I? I can't stand myself sometimes.

Rebecca and Josh Cooper- Is it a little pathetic that you guys are 40% of the reason that I'm applying to the University of Chicago? I really want to see you again.

Dave- You're still one of the only people in this entire world that can get me to say exactly what's really going on with me, talk me through it, and then pray over me so well that I start crying without knowing why. You are my biggest spiritual mentor. Ever.

Olivia Parvin- Your birthday is tomorrow, and I AM going to send you a good present this year, because every year you send the best presents imaginable and I feel like a terrible person because I don't deserve you or your awesome presents.

Madi- I need you to come over and sit on my bed with me so I can vent and then we can put on footie pajamas and scamper down to the basement and dance wildly. That's what I need right now.

Zach Tillapaugh- I keep remembering that taxi ride in Bangkok, where you suddenly stopped laughing and said this might be the last time the three of us saw each other. And you were right. I hope we can go next summer. Like, more than anything.

Bethany West- I am going to respond to your letter. I promise. I've already responded, actually. I just haven't sent it. You are one of the best people I've ever known. You deserve a good letter.

Ms. Deakins- There will never, ever, be another drama mother. You were it.

Mr. Coia- I still daydream during Creative Writing that you're going to walk in and find me, and read my writing and do your funny hand gestures and remind me why I wanted to major in English again.

Aaron, Alex, Tristan, and Mikey- You guys probably don't even remember me. But I remember you too well. You're all so impressive. So funny. So witty. I will probably always be attracted to Alex's written eloquence. I need great kids like you in my senior class. Seriously.


All my best friends. All my future bridesmaids. All the people I met and immediately realized I could hang out with for the rest of my life. The ones whose smiles, laughes, eye colors, and mannerisms I remember by heart.

I miss you.

Can I go back now?

Helpless

I was watching three of my friends frantically study for their AP Chem whatever-it-was at lunch yesterday, and I turned to someone and said, "I'm watching this with the same feeling I get when I see those sappy ASPCA commercials. I feel so sad for the helpless little kittens and puppies and I just want to save them all, but I can't."

Those poor little kittens needed someone to help them, but I just couldn't do it. (i.e. I hadn't taken chem since sophomore year)

As humorous as that situation was, I realized how true it was about myself as I shivered under my covers at 10:30 pm (yeah, yeah) last night and realized that there are some people I can't save.

And it's heartbreaking. It's almost like I'm hurting worse than they are. But goosebumps wrap around my sides and race down my legs and this knot tightens in my throat and my eyes sting as I realize that there's no way I know what it's like to hurt that bad. Me, in my privileged middle-class white girl life.

That makes it worse.

So as I shivered under a comforter and another fleece blanket, scared to death that I might not be enough,

I came to the heartbreaking conclusion that while I'm certainly not doing all I can, at the end of the day there will only be so much.

Don't Just Stand There

Something I can't stand:
When I put myself out there emotionally: reveal something to someone, make myself vulnerable to another person for whatever reason....I can't stand when they don't respond.

This happens all the time. Sometimes they just nod. Sometimes they might even say thank you or okay, but nothing else. Sometimes they say nothing at all.

I hate when they say nothing at all.

Do you hear me? Do you care? Do you even realize that I just cut myself open and let you look inside my chest? Say something.

Anything.

That's where I am today.

Dear October 28th, 2013

Gonna be totally honest with you. You scared me a little. You made me cry a little bit. And parts of you made me really, really mad.

You had your little moments of relief. Creative Writing, where I could rant in forgiving pencil lead. The icy glass of water and good laugh when I walked into my house. Any time I saw my cat.

But you allowed yourself to be way too influenced by the night of the 26th, and that was what pissed me off the most. So in that regard, you were kind of a jerk to me. But as always, I'll forgive you.

But I do think it's time for you to call it a day.

Fears Spawned From an Abstract Tumblr Photo

I think I'd like a pair of Oxfords.

Because when I've been cast out into the huge blue earth,
Alone on a raft
In a sea of term papers and 9am classes and liberal professors,
and I've got to do my own grocery shopping,

I think I'll prefer to get my apples and cucumbers from a farmer's market.

Because really, who doesn't prefer organic?

And so as I browse the produce in the soft 10:00am rays,
An iPhone in one hand and cloth satchel in the other,
And some lonely philosophy major student
With dark hair and a Bible in his back pocket
Is perusing the homemade jellies,
I don't want him to look over
And dismiss me as commonplace
Just because I'm wearing faded TOMS
Or NewBalance sneakers

You can tell something about a person by their shoes.
Not as much as you've heard, but some.

And a pair of Oxfords
Might be the thing that causes Mr. Right
To stop for a second longer
And wonder

I'd never want him to pass me over
Because of something as ordinary
As shoes

Conviction

I'm writing this down and putting it here so I don't forget it.

Every Sunday, I finish up steaming milk and pouring mochas in Noah's Cafe, and after grabbing my satchel from the wicker basket under the counter, I walk into the worship center of Mount Ararat midway though the singing, quietly accept a worship bulletin from the usher, and check my phone for my dad's text of where my family is sitting.

And every Sunday, as I listen to Todd Gaston unpack Scripture in new and amazing ways, I can't get certain people out of my mind.

I can't stop thinking: I wish _____ was here SO much. This is exactly what they're going through right now. I'm going to invite them to come with me sometime. They don't even realize how encouraging it is.

Every week this happens. And more often than not, the same people come to my mind every week.

And I'm not doing anything about it.

I'm sitting here, praying for them, and praying for God to bring someone else into their lives to build them up, and you know what? The uncomfortable truth might just be that He already did, and it's me.

If that's the case, why on earth am I still just sitting here?

So anyone who reads this: hold me accountable. Next time we talk, ask me what I've been doing to reach those people. Ask me if I've talked to them.

Because the things I'm hearing every Sunday are too good to keep all to myself.

What I Wish To Be

She's got Rapunzel's hair
And Ariel's voice

Her face is a map 
With freckles for roadsigns

Fonts have been modeled
From her handwriting

Strangers admire her makeup
When she's not wearing any

When she stands, she is English nobility
When she walks, she is a Victoria's Secret model

Her necklace is lucky to be close enough
To smell her perfume

When Solomon wrote the 31st Proverb,
He was watching her from across the street. 

Decorum

Now that I'm applying to colleges, I've been hearing things like,

"You should really be careful about what you post 'online', because you need to think about who can see those things. Like colleges."

So basically, I can't post anything I wouldn't want to explain someone anymore. That was my decision, no one else's.

And yes, I have another, locked page, that I can just rant on and no one can see it but me. But we all know that's not at all the same thing.

So basically, this is just stifling. I have no outlet anymore! I can't get out the things rambling inside my head, because it's not nearly as satisfying to just look at them in this secret corner that no one else will ever see.

I think we all knew that was never the entire point of this blog, anyway.

I give full freedom to my thoughts and feelings on here not only because I can, but because...

...I think deep down, there's always the notion in the back of my head that those people will, in fact, see those things.

And I think deep, deep down...

... I want them to.

I want you to know what I really think of you. I want you to know the music I'm listening to or why I wasn't myself at school today. I want you to know what made me happy this afternoon or who intrigued me last week. I don't like hiding it. I never have. I don't feel myself when I hold it in.

And some things, of course, are too much. But that was why I made the other page. Not for what I'm forced to use it for now.

But it's no use. This is the way it has to be until I say otherwise.

I'm sorry, world. But college is turning me into an ankles-crossed, hands-folded, mouth-closed version of myself, and even though I hate it, it's the way it has to be.

I'm just going to have to hold it in.

Some Thoughts About The Stranger In 4X

To Write A Poem For A Stranger

To write a poem for a stranger
Is to hand them your diary
It is giving them X-ray goggles

It is jumping off a cliff
Without checking for your parachute
It is painting a Siberian tiger
When all you've attempted are trees

It's handing them a briefcase with a million dollars
And hoping they don't give it away
It is ordering lunch in Paris
And hoping the waiter speaks English

This is the first time I've spoken to you
And I'm speaking a language
You may have never heard

You might be fluent
Or you might furrow your brow
And back away slowly
From me,
A foreigner.

From Me, a Toothbrush, To You, A Bicycle Tire

They told me that I was meant for the cleaner life

That you would drag me through the mud

They said that you would tread all over me

That they could see right through you

That you were full of hot air

That I would always be chasing

Always watching you disappear after sleeker models

That it would be a vicious cycle

But I know better

I know about your rough edges

And I have seen your perfect curves

And I will fit

Into whatever spaces you let me

If loving you means getting dirty

Bring on the grime

I will leave this porcelain home behind

I’m used to twice a day relationships

But with you, I’ll take all the time

And I know that we live in different worlds

And we’re always really busy

But in my dreams

You spin around me so fast

I always wake up dizzy

So, maybe one day

You’ll grow tired of the road

And roll on back to me

And when I blink my eyes into morning

Your smile will be the only one I see

(poem written by Sarah Kay) 

My Twin, Coree

Coree: A note to Abigail

When I need to be picked up, I just read this.

For anyone that doesn't really know what my life was like before I was here, this was it.

I miss it.

I miss my friend.

I love you too, dear.

Turn It Into Literature

So I got this potentially amazing idea for my script for Drama class.

It came to me after a friend mentioned that their idea was semi-autobiographical, with some stuff added to it, and suddenly I remembered every time this summer that I thought "Wow, my life would be such a good book/movie/TV sitcom/work of art."

So now I have this honest, beautiful, powerful idea inside my head, but I don't know how to do it justice without putting everything... well... out there.

And of course, no one would have to know it's true. My drama teacher might be the only one that ever reads it.

But what if it by some fluke, got chosen to be performed in December???

There are people out there who would know. 


So you see my dilemma...

Dear Stanford University,

Okay. I know my application probably won't look at all imposing amongst the stacks of class presidents and swim team captains and geniuses with SAT scores of 2360. Some of them will probably even have poetic, beautifully-worded essays. I like to say writing is my strong suit, but of course several of your other early applicants will claim that the essays are their forte as well.

But listen. You, in the Admissions office. You, deciders of my fate. Do you have any idea who I am?? I'm Abby freaking Erdelatz. I've lived in 4 countries and gone to 10 schools and still managed to keep up piano lessons for eight years. I can memorize the lines of every cast member in a show, including my own, by the second week of rehearsals without trying. I make my bed every morning without being asked, keep my room clean, have never snuck out or tried drugs, have a great relationship with my parents, and my hair is really soft! You have no idea who I am because on paper I amount to little, but in the real world I am spectacular. But you'll never know, will you?

You'll see a kid with probably some lovely teacher recommendations about my cheerful and cooperative personality in class, a few too many B's and B-pluses on my transcript, and who had some mildly interesting adventures as a military kid. You'll see average. You'll see pleasing, refreshing even. But you'll see average.

What you won't see, however, is me.

Style As Needed

My life is a lot like my hair.

Sometimes I wake up and all it takes is one glance to know it's a mess. So with a sigh, I grab a rod of hot metal and a brush and I clean it up. Tangles are ripped out because anything gentler would take far too much effort. In some places, the hint of a nice wavyness is visible, but it's not enough. It's never enough. So the curling iron presses and molds and exaggerates until the waves comply and become perfect, or near-perfect curls. Then it must be engulfed in a cloud of hairspray, or the curls will fall. Because they are, after all, fake.

No matter how much I use, they always fall out.

But sometimes I wake up and it's baby soft. I start to glide a brush through it, but realize that it would interrupt the angelic waves that already cascade across my shoulders. I brush my fingers across the front to see if they'll scatter, but they only fall gracefully into place, comfortable as they are. So I simply gape at the mirror with 20 extra minutes, unable to believe my luck.

Life is precisely like that.

Dear U.S. Postal Service,

Umm. Do I need to send you my address again?

I used to think growing up was all a bunch of secret formulas and processes and numbers that I simply didn't know yet. Someday, of course, someone would send me a nice thick packet with all kinds of instructions on how to apply for jobs and pay for college and taxes and how insurance works and other such things.

Well, here I am, typing in the required information into the Common App to send to Stanford and William and Mary, but I keep having to skip blanks because the packet hasn't arrived yet.

Were you just misinformed? Or is it on its way? If you could just shoot me an email as to when it's getting here that would be great, because I can't really get started on my essays until I know how this whole 'life' thing is supposed to work.

Thanks.

My Day Is Coming, Gentlemen

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Before you read this, go find the song that always pumps you up. Listen while you read. (Come And Get It is actually applicable, but you don't have to use that.) 

You know what I realized yesterday?

Guys go through girl 'phases'.

When they're young, it's the Little Rascals phase. "Girls are dumb, yucky, stupid, etc." Then they reach middle school and the curiosity sets in. Girls are new and exciting. Then it's high school and girls are entertainment. They're desirable. They exist either to look at or to pursue. And when I say pursue, I usually mean chase. It's not bad; that is, not all high school guys look at girls as objects. But they're fun. It's not time to be serious yet. Let's be interested in whatever's the newest, shiniest thing.

Then college. Then the real world. Well, now it's time to settle. Guys look for the nice girls. The one's who are good with kids. Who can be intelligent. Responsible. The ones who'd make good wives. Good moms. The ones they can respect.

Well, here's what I realized.

I've never been the newest, shiniest thing. I used to think that meant I was doing it wrong. Well, that's not true.
I'm a nice girl. And that's okay. 

Because the thing is, I'm looking around the sea of high school boys, trying to find one of them who's looking for a nice girl. Because some are. But the vast majority of them are still in the entertainment phase. And that's okay too. But I was brushing my teeth yesterday and realized that my day is coming. I may not be a fashion plate, or know about the coolest hipster band, or have a cool devil-may-care attitude in my skinny jeans and liquid eyeliner, but hey. While those girls are having their heyday, I'm gearing up for mine.

There will come a day when good guys look for nice girls, and when that day comes, I'll be ready.

So it's incredibly liberating to say with confidence that while it really sucks some days, I'm cool with just sitting back for now. And waiting. For when the good guys come for the nice girls.

(Wow. That was empowering.)

Dear Sleepless Unicorn,

Remember the fourth picture?

It was the one we said we'd get rid of. It was too posed. Cliche. Neither of us looked all that great.

When I got home I cut it off the strip like we promised. But I kept it. It's in a box, and that box is in a drawer.

Well, tonight I looked at it.

I needed to remember that. It was easy to remember myself. The me in the picture. But you... the you the in picture was gone.


It's not that I miss it.

But the speed with which this new you replaced the old one was startling, and well...

...it hurts.


I'm mad at myself. For letting it.

Dear Wordpress,

It's curious thing, my contradictory mind.

You see, I told it- swore up and down- that I was ready to forget. And so now I can feel it filling up past the dotted line on the rim- with worries, shiny new musings, and a thousand hand-cramping daily details... as usual. But I can also feel your author's essence dissolving in the stagnant, cloudy murk at the bottom.

That was what was supposed to happen. My mind and I had agreed on it. But it's working more quickly than that small, still-aching part of me is ready for.

So though your comments section is painfully inviting, my contradictory mind and I came up with the conclusion that we're going to refrain. We're not going to say the things that we want to.

Because a thousand other things are already filling it past the dotted line, and we're afraid there might not be enough room for more...

Senior Year Day 1: A Synopsis

The film score from Finding Nemo barged its way into a dream at the ungodly hour of 5:45 a.m, and despite how cheerily my responsible brain tried to remind me of all the new and wonderful things I was about to encounter, my body was as irritated as it always is in the mornings.

(To my future husband: Don't ever wake me up. I don't care if you have breakfast and a vase of flowers on a tray to give me. I won't be happy.)

Of course, I missed the bus stop. I sprinted and caught the next stop, but still. Doesn't the fact that I'm a senior and still riding the bus get me any mercy? And get this: two freshman were in my usual seat. Oh. Come. On. (To top it off, they cut in front of me, even though their row was behind mine, as we were getting off. I was mentally protesting when I remembered that I still have trouble passing for a junior, let alone a senior. They couldn't have known.)

I'd like to take a moment here and recognize how caught up I'm already getting with all this "senior privilege" nonsense, when I've hated the kids who do that for the past three years like nothing else.

Sorry.

To Mr. Tlumack: I'm sorry. I know you have your own hipster, cynical, fan-club amongst the kids who had you for two years. But Ms. Roark seems much more helpful of an English teacher. Anyone who gives individual voice recordings of feedback for your papers and offers to make a Twitter page to remind you of homework can't be that bad, can she?

And yes. I am taking a Creative Writing class. WORDS CAN'T EXPRESS.
If there was ever something I needed, it was a class where I can listen to my iPod and just write scattered thoughts for an hour every other day.

Other than that:

-Eating outside is a rush, but it's way too hot to enjoy it just yet.
-I kept wishing to see certain people walking the halls so I could watch them pass like I used to, but I had to remind myself that they're gone.
-I'm going to need to go to sleep earlier if this whole 'attentiveness' thing is going to work, especially for AP French, which has a grand total of 6 students and therefore is impossible to sleep in.
-It still hasn't hit me that they're aren't people who have seniority on me and can pretend to put me in my place, but in fact that's me now.
-There's nothing more frustrating than first-day-of-school handwriting.
-Scratch that. There's nothing more frustrating than all the seat-changing that happens in the first week of school. I'd like to get all that settled like, now, so I know where to sit.

Here's to one more year. And I know I say that, but I don't really believe it just yet.

My Latest Feels-y Song

'Cause you're the reason I believe in

something I don't know... 

Sweetest Downfall

I wish (as usual) that life was like a movie. But it's not.

In the movies, honest motives and deep emotion are their own excuses, and "doing what's right" is boring.

But in the real world, I can't afford to throw logic to the wind and drop everything for a who-knows-but-who-cares. I wish I could. I really, really wish I could. But that's not me. I always do the right thing. Because in the end, it is the right thing.

I always feel for the characters in movies that are faced with decisions that will hurt people they care about. But I still yell at them through the screens. Just tell them! I think. Tell them that you're only doing this for their own good! Don't hurt them and not tell them why. 

I'd never do that. 

And yet here I am, hurting people in the name of doing the right thing. Being the monster that has to be the one to do it even when they don't want to.

And the one who then walks away crying.

I really shouldn't have judged those movie characters.

Dear Marco Beltrami,

Of course. You genius.

How could I not have seen it before?

Here I was replaying and rewinding and it was right there. And though your glorious concoction of strings does wonders for my overactive, cinematic imagination, at the end of the two minutes and three seconds it's just sound. I'm still just sitting at my computer or huddled under my covers, and haven't really just experienced the pure magic I saw played out behind closed eyelids.

I guess it took that many replays for me to finally recognize that the very title is telling me to do what the whole thing has me wanting.

Sorry for taking so long to catch on.

Dear Inevitability,

If you've had enough say when...

Dear Churning Stomach,

What, are you surprised? It all went, surprisingly, almost exactly as you imagined.

Well, right up until the very last moment.

But who were we kidding?
You couldn't have handled it anyway.

Losing My Victoria's Virginity

So I took a trip to Victoria's Secret yesterday. Yes, for the first time.

What?

Anyways, the moral of the story is that my time was divided between gaping around and whispering, "This is a beautiful place", dropping my umbrella and 5 other bags everywhere, accidentally pulling out the drawers of $60 lingerie, squeezing the memory-foam linings of everything, and basically not acting like the sexy babe that store promises to make you.

But hey, I walked out with that little telltale pink bag (pictures of which were quickly Snapchatted to a female friend for proof) and a free fragrance sample, so I called it a win.

To the Man With My Future Last Name,

The fact that you will replace my father for the spot of "#1 Guy in Abby's Life" is nothing short of spectacular. If there's one thing I cannot wait to shake my head in wonder at, it's you sitting at my kitchen table, sharing a cold one with my dad and chuckling over the corniest of jokes.

It's that kind of picture that gets me through nights like these.

Because it's absolutely disheartening to have to trudge through all these years of cringe-worthy interrogations, several maybes, and worst of all, plain old waiting.

But it's incredibly relieving to think that one day, the man who has to meet and ask every guy friend I hang out with where we're going, who's driving, and what time we'll be back... will one day give his full approval to someone like you.

But just to help you out:
-He love, love, loves golf.
-He doesn't like clutter on the stairs.
-The day of the Fantasy Football Draft is set-apart for nothing else.
-If you see his sunglasses anywhere besides his head, return them. He's probably looking for them.

Sorry I can't be more helpful. If you see this, know that I've witnessed a pretty impressive example of a man.

But I'm sure you will amaze as well. :-)

To the Thief of My Sleep,

If we could write each other's secrets onto pages,
and place those well-read journals back into each other's hands,
who would hold a thicker volume?

My Mental State, in Gifs

Around most people: 





During conversations: 





By myself:

Us Humans

Something I'm learning a lot lately: It becomes impossible to make assumptions about someone (or judge them) when you've heard their stories and seen their pain. 

This became incredibly relevant at Younglife camp, where during cabin time we would all share what was going on in our lives, and where we needed God to step in. Everyone opened up, and we all got to hear some heavy stories. Heck, I talked about things I swore I wouldn't bring to the table.

The whole time, I felt a mixed sense of amazing companionship with these girls while also being incredibly convicted. Half of these people I'd judged before! Or at the very least, I'd seen them in school and thought, wow, they just have it all together, don't they. 

But no one does!

In fact, some of these girls had looked at me and thought the same things.
Me. As if anyone could think I have my ducks in a row.

I'm amazed at the fact that the more I get to know the things my friends aren't proud of, the more I respect them. I judge them less. It isn't the other way around! Because now I see them in a more relatable light. Once we realize that we're all in the same boat- that we all have broken places in us- it's impossible not to love them even more.

I find this especially mind-blowing when it's people that I look up to. You know the ones. The people we all aspire to be like. The ones that exude this aura of self-assurance, or in some cases, God-assurance. Nothing can phase them.

But then you see them in their low moments too, and it's like the universe just hiccuped or something.

Wait, they're human too? 

Weirdly, it's not a loss-of-faith moment for me. It's relieving! And humbling. They've been there to see my screwups; the least I can do is be there to love them in theirs.

To Honesty, A Third Time

With some people, long stretches of silence can be awkward. Disconcerting. But it wasn't like that. I mean, at least not to me.

It was kinda nice to just sit there occasionally and not say anything.

I was so afraid that it would quickly turn into a solid hour or more of small talk. Hearing an actual voice can scare away the urge to be honest.

But it didn't!
In some ways, it was the deepest one yet. Look at us, expressing emotion.

And as always when I talk on the phone, I'm forever grateful that no one could see my face.

Because I made some pretty epic faces during those few hours. Terrified ones. Excited ones. Thoughtful ones. A few sly smiles.

As much as I would love a late-night jaunt to Waffle House any day, it too would be frightening at first.

Because as a voice is more daring than typed words, a face is more dangerous than a voice.

But every great thing starts out a little scary, doesn't it? 


Can we do it again?

The Most Cliche Post of the Month

So I was nominated for a Liebster Award.

For those that have never heard of it (myself included), I'm pretty sure it's this thing designed to introduce bloggers to other new bloggers. So I was tagged as a blogger with under 60 followers (duh) to do these questions about myself and then tag 10 other blogs as my nominees. Thing is, I don't even know of 10 bloggers. Sad I know.
So I'll just do the questions for fun.

Sue me.

1. What is your biggest ambition that you want to do/achieve in life.
I could say acting professionally, or publishing a novel, or even wingsuit jumping, but honestly, it's just to live the life God has planned for me. And find the perfect husband, to be honest.

2. If you could travel through time, would you travel forwards or backwards in time and why?
Probably backwards. I always wish that I could go back and change something stupid I said, or even just be with people that I took for granted before. So I'd relive some favorite memory, or befriend somebody, or something.

3. What one thing do you love most about planet earth and why?
Nature. I love watching the show Planet Earth (yeah, yeah) because it captures so nicely the wonder of creation. Earth in her natural habitat and all. 

4. What is the happiest memory you can remember?
No clue. I was asked this fairly recently. I think I said the weeks before I left Okinawa, when I was with my friends, but I can't pick one. It's more the people I was with. Isn't it always?

5. What film do you think represents your life the best?
What kind of question is that? My life can't be contained in some stereotypical story. Hollywood makes movies based off of my life. It's way too complicated for a movie that's already been made. 

6. If you could only eat one type of food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Fruit, because it's got variety, and is healthy but delicious. And juiceable. But my favorite food is pasta. 

7. What is the funniest joke you know?
Puns in general. I geek SO hard. 

8. Describe what your perfect date would be. Ugggghhhhhhhh fine.
Someone comes to my house in a button-down and says we're gonna hang out. He takes me to get some type of food. Maybe it's just ice cream. We sit someplace talking. Maybe we do something adventurous. We listen to awesome music in the car. He drops me off and kisses me on the cheek and isn't afraid to text me afterwards to ask when we can hang out again. 
*dies of cliches*

9. What is the one thing you cannot live without and why?
Christian fellowship. If I go too long without people who encourage me to keep living for what's most important to me, life gets a lot more difficult. But when I have it, it's so life-giving. 

10. If you had one wish, (and you can't wish for more wishes), what would you wish for?
The power of flight. Since I was 7, that's been it. I'd instantly have a way to escape, a way to see people, a way to have my own perfect secret. 

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

Well, that was fun. And really hard. Thanks to Jordan, from the UK for nominating me. How did you find my blog, anyway?

Musical Thank-Yous

Read it, guys, You may be mentioned in here.

Been meaning to do this post for a while, so heck.

My taste in music is relatively diverse, but not near where I want it. (In fact, I could REALLY use some new music right now.) But I am proud of a few things, such as:

-My 19 playlists, each for different moods/scenarios
-The artists I've found on my own and introduced people to
-Sleeping At Last is MY band. No one else has ever heard of them, and when someone has, I think I'll marry them. Not kidding.
-The absolute brilliance I've found through film soundtracks/scores

But to be honest, most of the best artists are always found through other people. So I need to thank the following people for bringing various music into my life.

Joie Darretta- my beautiful cousin, thank you for introducing me to Mat Kearney. Ships In The Night will forever be a jam, and loving Mat has helped me bond with so many others. Also, Sweet Disposition.

Kaleb Feltner- Changing by the Airborne Toxic Event. Also, the earlier Passion Pit.

Coree Stuart- WHERE TO BEGIN. Songs: Punching In A Dream, Take A Walk, 40 Day Dream, Whistle For The Choir, New Shoes, You and I, Hand Hold, Tongue Tied, You Always Make Me Smile, Worried Shoes (okay, your entire CD). Artists: Spoon, MGMT, I'm sure there's more.

Sarah Labanc- Your adventure music. New Earth by Zerbin, Bon Iver, Whirring by The Joy Formidable, He Is We, the songs on your tumblr, The Kooks... you are so musically diverse it kills me.

Cody DeVries- I'll Follow You Into The Dark. Enough said.

Bailey Lisk- That song called Bailey. Gah.

Common Ground- All of my current worship music.

The men of Common Ground- Downfall of Us All by A Day To Remember. *headbangs*

Alex Mutuc- The Avett Brothers, Iron and Wine. Okay, I only checked them out because you were into them, but boy am I a fan now.

Bethany West- The Vespers, Tender Love by Carl Cartee. Gah, the feels.

Phoenix Underwood- Gravity Rides Everything. Confession: I never got into any more Modest Mouse, but that song has stuck with me and helped the way it does for you. Also: Can You Tell by Ra Ra Riot and The Real of It by Said the Whale.

Ethan Duffy- Love Love Love by Avalanche City(oh my gosh it gets me). The Girl by City and Colour. Question by the Old 97's. Trapstep. Any song you showed me, I ended up loving. THE FEELS. And when you said you liked How He Loves...*shivers*

ABC's Castle- Pearl Jam, Jules Larson, Junior Senior, MoZella, so much more.

Winnie The Pooh, the movie- Somewhere Only We Know, and hence, Keane. Still my favorite ever.

Erik Olson- Mumford and Sons. I'd heard them, but hearing your performance of Where Are You Now got me really enthusiastic about their full albums.

Wendy Nguyen- Your use of Tim McMorris' songs in your videos got me into his (published) music. You're famous, so you'll never read this, but still.

Olivia Parvin- Owl City. I wouldn't be nearly as enthusiastic about him as I am now without your love of Adam Young. Also: The Hush Song, Helicopter by Branches (OH MY GOODNESS PERFECTION), half the songs on your blog.

Charissa Gerke- Your use of the song The King Beetle On The Coconut Estate by Mewithoutyou in your sermon was so, SO unique. It remains the most obscure yet meaningful song I have yet to hear, ever. (Hint: the fire in the song represents Christianity.)

Rachel Sumuray- Lindsey Stirling. Oh my gosh, now I'm obsessed.

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

There are so many more. And honestly, the majority of my music/artists are from movies. 500 Days of Summer, Warm Bodies, etc.

But if you are on here, thank you. For culturing my life a little more. Keep it up.

Perspective

I watched a documentary called "The Shadow of the Moon" about the Apollo 11 mission with my family, and to be honest, I teared up a couple times. I highly recommend it. It told the whole landing-a-man-on-the-moon story from the perspective of the astronauts, who are now in their eighties. So cool.

But it also reminded me how small Earth is. A couple of the astronauts had some really good quotes at the end about how seeing the earth from space made them more appreciative of how fortunate we are to live on it, and how suddenly, terrestrial problems don't seem as significant when you've had a (literally) cosmic view of them.

It reminded me of this picture. It's of Earth, taken from a satellite that was really far away.

Look at that one more time and tell me again how the thing you're worrying about is so important. 

That is all. 

To Honesty, Again

Another small tidbit about me: I second-guess everything. And by everything I mean, Ev. Ree. Thing.

It doesn't matter how steadfast I am in a decision; there will always be a small moment right before I take the leap when I can see the horrible what if play out and a small part of me decides it wants to back out.

Sometimes, if it speaks up early enough, that little part of me even wins.

But perhaps worse than second-guessing myself is when I doubt other people.

Maybe they said something nice a few days ago, but now? They didn't talk to me as much today. They've probably changed their mind about how cool or uncool I am. That must be it. They realized I'm not all that exciting and don't want a thing to do with me. I should leave them alone.

I once heard that if someone really wants to be friends with someone, they will make it happen themselves.

But is that really true?

You know back in middle school, or heck, even now, when Person A really has a crush on Person B, and so A tries talking B up all the time, and whenever A's like, "Hey! What's up?" B's all, "Oh, hey, how's it going," because B doesn't want to be rude, but A thinks that it obviously means B's into them too, so A travels down this dark road of misinterpretation with the inevitable result of their heart getting broken?

I feel like my whole life is like that sometimes, with me as the sucker who thinks people actually enjoy her.

Tbh.

What's This "Familiarity" You Speak Of

The military has taught me many things.

For one thing, my mental, emotional, and spiritual states would be vastly different right now without it, after the past year.
Adaptability takes on a whole new meaning when you have a new life every two years. But thank goodness, my toughest challenge came after a lifetime of practice.

There are many different aspects of war. I used to imagine Marines being only the guys that ducked from behind walls in the desert and shot at the enemy. But though my dad went to Iraq, he never killed a man. He works in logistics. He makes plans. Strategizes. That's helped him be a heck of a laser tag partner, for one thing.

Even if you don't agree with a higher power, you have to respect their authority.

When people say they'll keep in touch, not everyone means it. But some do.

Things mean more when you've earned them. Giving is a wonderful and necessary part of society, but it teaches nothing, and fosters no growth. Give a man a fishing pole, not a fish.

No matter who they are, your family knows you better than your friends. Always.

If you've made your way to the top, don't brag about it. If I wanted to, I could have flaunted the fact that my dad was the Base Commander of Camp Kinser (the military equivalent of a mayor), but he didn't, so I didn't.

You can't always tell the people that are going to stick around.

The center of the world isn't where you live. It doesn't matter how long you've been somewhere and how well you know it: it's nothing like the rest of the world.

You appreciate something in a very different way when you have to do without it for a year at a time.

The same applies to people. Like your father.

The term "home" is relative. Whenever I feel like I don't belong somewhere, I remind myself that none of us will never truly be home until we're with God. 

Most Marines aren't stone-faced gorillas who tower over everyone in their camo, clutching guns and barking at everyone.
They're just a lot of dads with crew cuts who know how to get places on time.

And of course, I have some invaluable skills including, but not limited to:

-Fitting ten days worth of clothing and toiletries into a backpack
-Understanding entire sentences of solely acronyms
-Packing a suitcase for two months in approximately 10-20 minutes
-Being able to recite an airplane safety video word-for-word
-Airplane sickness immunity
-Owning everyone in class during annual "What I Did This Summer" sharing time

-Navigation of the Bangkok International Airport with the speed and efficiency of Jason Bourne

-The knowledge that most of my amenities in life have been government-issued

-The ability to turn "goodbye" into "see you later"

And though the life of camouflage and painfully-tight sock buns isn't for me, I look ahead with somber acceptance to the day I will exchange my military ID card for the title of "civilian."  

Anonymity

I want to become a girl with a different name. 

With social media, it can't really be that difficult.

I can create a tumblr account with a false persona, and voila. 

I can spend a few months filling it with things. 

And then it is only to type in a select few names and click "Follow". 

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

If I were someone else

someone you'd never seen

but felt

what would I be?

Would you be intrigued

would your heart warm

when you saw how much we're alike?

Without the visual inhibitors

of "real life"

what would you see?

Would you like it?

I don't know

if I would

or not

I'd hope you would

but of course

all you see

or rather, don't see

is what's "real"

The irony is

it's not real at all

But you'll never get

close enough

to know

Stumble and Plummet

Lord, my eyes are blinded
Your light, I've failed to find it
in constant darkness I reside
what I thought a lamp, merely pride

This fall ends in pain, alas
the bottom is self-shattered glass
as the edge bends and slopes
I cling to roots of high, fruitless hopes

My Own, a root that won't grip tight
my wisdom, naught- my labor, a mite
The World simply fills a broken cup
I, a mere human, hear "Look up"

Your hand, always present in distress
Lost in the torrent of my mess
Your will- greater than my circumstance
While mine is void of Your elegance

Though I grit teeth and leap out alone
I leap in the hopes it flings me home
whether You catch me or whether I fall
Your hand is regardless controlling it all

Though I wish for neon signs
I've yet to learn to walk blind
for clouds small as a man's hand
can bring rain to cover the land.