the new info from my facebook

I dream. I love. I learn. I laugh. I smile. I cry. I enjoy what I have – but sometimes want more. I make very clear visuals in my head. I cherish those who bless me with their company. I let my mind wander – sometimes a little too much. I take pictures. I make videos. I dance – in and out of the rain. I want to work for Pixar some day. I sing. I act – poorly. I smile some more. I make several copies of everything in fear of losing it. I organize. I mother others – sometimes to the point of their annoyance. I listen thoroughly. I chat. I yell. I scream. I draw. I paint. I make friendship bracelets. I believe in God. I cherish the smaller things. I believe in soulmates – can't wait to meet mine. I don't like pizza, popsicles, #2 pencils, muscle spasms, being late, jumping spiders, or bad erasers. I sleep. I feel bliss when surrounded by my friends. I write. I play. I breathe. I worry. I ponder. I envy. I fear. I believe that the good stuff comes at times when you don't suspect. I have way too much art supplies – but. I love every piece. I have the most wonderful family. I have contacts. And glasses. I get lost in music. I whisper. I peek. I admit. I lie. I speak. I ride bicycles. I eat fairly healthy. I approach anger and frustration with the same amount of bitterness. I take too much and give too little. I wish. I run. I come. I go. I leave. I know what is out there – and yet. I have no idea. I own a Mac. I miss being five years old. I can't wait to be 25. I smell. I think. I react – sometimes too quickly. I wish I had more patience. I wish I had more understanding. I wish I had more awe, wonder, reverence, responsibility, determination, enthusiasm. I wish I could tell the world how much I love it – and at the same time how much. I don't deserve what it's given me. I wish I could tell you how much I love you... but when. I try. I find there are no words. : )

lessons learned

Sorry about the delay in posting. I don't think about it much, and unfortunately, it is constantly shoved to the back of my brain by the other million thoughts that cross my mind in a 24-hour span. Today's post will be short being that I need to leave for class in several minutes. 

The ever popular roommate debate finally reaches the occupants of apt. 801. For the past several weeks, one roommate refused to talk to me for good reason. I admit I said some rather unnecessary words about her boyfriend and she had all right to be angry with me. That did not bug me so much as the somewhat fierce demeanor when we were trapped in an elevator together. Long story short, I found a paper on my desk later that day demanding payments I had carelessly forgot to give back to her. For the past several days, I was afraid to enter the dorm on the chance that she might start an argument, which I know I would not have won. I was so absorbed with the fear of creating an even deeper chasm between us, that all yesterday I wandered around the city, looking for random things to pass time with, or calling up my few friends to take refuge in their dorms. Finally, I got some cash out of the ATM and wrote her a civil note. For some reason, I do not feel scared to come back to my own home. It was a strangely freeing action that also found some of my lost courage simultaneously. 

Lesson learned: If you are stuck in a situation, seek help from the best advice-givers you know and take action with confidence. It saves you the medical bills you might get from having an ulcer. 

another top ten...

Another top ten. This time, it's goals that are pretty reasonable, and things that I can accomplish within the next 5-10 years based on my own will. None of that gain a life partner, complete life dream stuff. (although that would be nice!)

10. To lose a couple of pounds in a healthy way and keep them off. 

9. To make a 2D animated film, completely hand-drawn and colored, and at least 30 minutes long. 

8. To learn archery and be able to hit a target. 

7. To learn chess and win a few games.

6. To go to a party somewhere in the city with friends and be completely comfortable with myself.

5. To learn how to dance legitimately. 

4. To cook a 6 course meal, complete with creative plating, dessert, and wine tasting beforehand. 

3. To be able to run a mile in less than 10 minutes. (Trust me, I've struggled with this forever.)

2. To hold an extremely large bird of prey on my hand and not be scared. I've wanted to train birds since I realized it was an actual occupation and I have always been entranced with their grace. 

1. To visit Pixar studios. Whether it's to work there or just to look around, I think that would be amazing. 

"Why?" (With an Answer)

Why am I tired?

I am tired because my bed is made out of melted cheese. It has no support for my back and my room is the hottest in our appartment because of the on-going thermostat wars. 

Why am I frustrated?

I am frustrated because I don't feel I am what I used to be. I am frustrated because I don't think I knew what I was in the first place, and trying to become something you didn't know you were is a little hard. Understand? 

Why am I not happy?

To be dead honest, I think it is because my views of my family have changed dramatically. I am sad because my sister ever-so-bluntly brought it to my attention that I don't do much to support my parents when it comes to my college education. I am sad because my mom has carried and continues to carry too many burdens for her own good. She rarely does anything for herself. Her world has revolved around everyone else for about 50 years. I am sad because my father is trying to make a life-changing event work in his favor, and I don't think that it is time yet. No one knows what is going to come out of it, but the entire process makes me sad. He, too, carries more than his shoulders will allow. I am happy for my brother. I am sad because my sister rarely shares any emotions any more. She has a stern and annoyed tone when I ask her questions any more, and I feel scared around her. This is not how it's supposed to be. 

Why am I scared?

I am scared because I feel that four years are passing me by without my control. I should be experiencing something I'm not. I don't like college life that much. I'm rather disgusted by it. To me, college is that place that prepares you for work. That is what I am here for - to learn how to work. Doesn't that have a tinge of pathetic woven inbetween it?

I am also scared because I'm trying to take 18 credit hours this semester. 

I am also scared because I feel I have lost connections with friends back home. 

I am also scared because my dogs have been sick since thanksgiving. 

I am also scared because I feel dreadfully alone. Too often to enjoy. 

Why am I scared even more?

I am scared because I've been out of touch with God for about 7 months now. I don't like it. 

Why am I angry?

I think I am angry because bad things happen to good people. An article was published in Newsweek last week that talked about people who are lucky in bad situations. Personally, I thought it was bs. My roommate has lost her loan for this college even though it applies to her, has gotten her wallet stolen, lost the only $200 she had to her name, got denied at two other community colleges before finally getting into a third, the classes at that third college recently got deleted, and to top it all off, her ipod screen cracked. Yet she goes through life with a smile on her face, a story to tell, and a hug to give. What happened to "what goes around comes around"?

I am sorry this post was rather dreary. Maybe happier thoughts rest with the next post. 

Another Top 10...

Somewhat random, but my newest list is the top ten best freebie songs I've gotten  from itunes.

10. Speed Feels Better - Michael Tolcher (o.k. I admit it, I bought it, but I think I listened to it almost every day over the summer and never really got sick of it. recommended +10)

9. Save Your Best - Steve Reynolds (kinda reminds me of a wedding? question mark?)

8. Walking on Air - Kerli (the verses are a tad strange, but the refrain is perty  sweet)

7. Slow Me Down - Emmy Rossum (Can't really remember if I bought it or not, but who thought that Christine Daae would put out an album that was actually half good)

6. Let's Dance to Joy Division - The Wombats (crazy catchy)

5. The Show - Lenka (also crazy catchy)

4. One Life to Love - 33 Miles (I know, Jesus music... but honestly God Rocks!)

3. Black and Gold - Sam Sparro (pretty much the first techno song that I enjoyed listening to)

2. Losing Me (Perdido en Ti) - Diego (close tie with first place, but this one definitely made it onto at least 6 different mixes within the last several months.)

1. Before the Worst - The Script (it's got it all... it's catchy, awesome piano intro, unique love song... "I was down on one knee and you were mine for life/we were thinking that we'd never be apart/with your name tatooed across my heart...")

Long time no write

Ok. So here I am, a little more than a month into the college routine, which I found out is a pretty interesting piece in the puzzle of life. To sum up my experiences so far, I figured I'd make a top ten list of the things I've learned so far:

10. Art school is different from regular school. All the kids I've met here so far are "chasing their dreams." I'm not excluding myself from that category, but it just feels a little off meeting people that announce they're going to be the next big director, singer, musician, fashion designer, or dancer after hearing nurse, physical therapist, or engineer for the last 7 or 8 years. 

9. Art students don't consider a party a party without some form of alcoholic beverage, joint, or shot so they can see all the pretty colors. They say it's "inspiring" and it helps them cope with being "different." Someone please throw these people a real party with Cranium, water, and home-made cookies. 

8. Chicago is a one-season city. The thing I miss most about living in the suburbs is the color. The trees planted here are set in cement, and the only green you see is at the park or along the sidewalk where the weeds have grown over. The leaves on the trees don't change color either. They just fall off. 

7. Public transportation isn't all it's cracked up to be. Let's just say that some guy woke up on the L with another man cutting open his thigh with a knife. I walk... everywhere. 

6. The kids at art school are a little more accepting than the general public. With all the unique cultures combined, no one really cares how many piercings you have, what color your hair is, if you draw on all your clothes with permanent markers, how many boyfriends/girlfriends you have at a single time, your sexual orientation and preference, or if you have your own vocabulary (well, that can get a little confusing, but the moment they understand one word, they're going to ask you to teach them the rest.) 

5.  Art school has their foot in pretty much every department of the world you can think of. For example, actor Sam Rockwell (Galaxy Quest, The Green Mile) came here several weeks ago to answer questions after screening his latest movie, Choke. I was fifteen feet from a famous actor. That's a new one. 

4.  Expectations cannot always be fulfilled. When I moved into my apartment with my three roommates, we had a leaky ceiling, stiff drawers that creak every time you open them, beds that creak louder than the drawers, ants, centipedes that were the size of my pinky finger with antennas twice as long, and almost complete solitude being that we were the only ones on the eighth floor, other than the dorm advisor. Let's just say I haven't made a lot of friends yet. 

3.  I'll say it loud and clear: I miss home. I miss my bed, my dogs, my family, privacy, my room, the grass, the smell (I feel like I'm breathing dirt here), the people in the hallways at school, MY FRIENDS, driving... the list goes on. Luckily, I'm close enough as where I can just take the train home if I really need to. 

2. There are extreme levels of maturity/mental capacity here. One of my roommates, for instance, asked me how to heat up a microwave dinner, but she's had 47 "boyfriends" and there's a warrant out for her arrest in Texas. Another kid in one of my classes knows where to get any drink or drug on the planet. Another student has been able to answer all my questions about Calculus when the teacher couldn't, and this one kid has the most extensive vocabulary I've ever heard. Hopefully all the positive things will influence me the most. 

1.  There is no way to prepare for college. It's one of life's best curve-balls and I strike out every time I'm at bat. Every corner has something new to shove in front of me. I really wonder if I'm just completely naive about everything from living in a bubble for the first 17 years of my life. I think I've learned many of those things that can't be taught, they just have to be experienced, but I feel like I'm the only one that is going through the entire process. Anyway, I've accepted the fact that I'm new at this. Let's hope that it just goes uphill from here. : ) 

Needy or not needy?

All my life, I have been told two things. Everyone I have ever met has told me, directly or indirectly, one of these two things. Some people have told me both, but really mean one, or possibly changed their minds several days, weeks, months, or years later. Everyone in your life will tell you one of these little, but at the same time, big messages. I have told people, you have told and will tell people, friends, family. The advice you give one person may not be the same as the next. You may even change your mind or try to take it back. 

Well, these two things can make you or break you, build you or destroy you, enchant you or disgust you, change you or leave you the same being you were before the words were uttered. They make you think. They make you ponder. They make you decide.

One message that I noticed quite recently, is that I need something. Most people tell me I need something when we first meet. They don't specify what it is possibly because of embarrassment, courtesy, or something they call manners. It's typical. We've all been subject to it and have told someone that they've needed something. In our eyes, they didn't have it, and because they didn't have it, of course, they needed it. To many of us, another person on this planet will always need something. Always. 

The second thing, which I learned even more recently, is that no one needs anything. I only wish that I had the power to go up to everyone and tell them that they needed absolutely nothing! How great would it feel?! If I could do that, I would fulfill my life's work...(not like I have any idea what a life's work is, but it sounds legit). To tell someone that they don't need a single thing in my eyes. Some people have told this already. I am happy that I have told them. But I want to let everyone know. 

I want to be able to tell the world that it needs nothing. 

It's perfect just the way it is.

You're perfect just the way you are. 

Searching

Almost instantly after she slammed and locked the door, her hands flung a scrappy purse and a set of keys onto the small hallway table, ,already supporting a vase of dried flowers and a picture frame. She then realized, with immense annoyance, that he too, unfortunately had a key. She stormed down the hallway.

Right before she entered the kitchen, she heard the jiggling doorknob and a metallic clink. the condominium door flung open and she could hear his quick, light footsteps on the hardwood floor. 

"Elise?" he shouted from the hallway.

Her frail hands gripped the edge of the marble sink. Elise tried to steady herself by taking a deep breath. The new set of bangs she cut yesterday were falling into her glistening eyes where tears were slowly budding. 

"Elise?" 

This time it was soft. She could tell he was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. 

"Get out."

She had meant to say those words firmly, but her voice quivered. Hatred bubbled in her stomach for saying that to him. 

"What?" confusion coloring his voice.

"Roger, just get out," she said as she swiped away a tear on her cheek.

"I don't under-"

"What don't you understand? Don't you get it? We can't be together. Not yesterday, not now, not tomorrow."

"Why? Why can't we be together if we want?" he already knew the answer she was about to give.

"Are you kidding?" she asked incredulously. "You almost got killed tonight. On my behalf!"

"That guy couldn't take me if he tried. I didn't die, did I? Look, will you stop blaming yourself for things you can't control?"

She knew he was right, but the image of the fresh gash on his arm was branded on her memory. 

"Do you think they won't try harder next time? They won't plant bombs or secretly track you down? They aren't going to stop after tonight and just say 'Darn, foiled again.'"

"You're right, they're not. But I told you that was a risk I was willing to take. I told you that I loved you and nothing could come between us, not even..."

"...God, himself, yeah. But I guess love was foolish this time. I don't want to have to explain to your family the reason you were killed in a freak car chase was because of me. Why don't you find some other chick and just live a normal life. Get married, have kids, grow old, buy a porch swing."

He took a step forward and put his hands out from his body slightly.

"Elise, there is no other 'hot chick.' I don't want to buy a porch swing for someone else." He chuckled to himself at the idea. "I want to grow old with only one, beautiful, unique woman." 

He walked forward and stood behind her, hesitating.

Elise felt him standing there, staring at her. She gasped slightly when he took al of her hair and moved it to one side of her neck. He placed his arms around her stomach, encircling her with warmth. Then, he kissed her neck. She recoiled slightly.

"Then you better start looking," she said, wiping away more tears. She couldn't help but sniff at her running nose. 

He paused for a moment. Couldn't she understand that his world stood still when he looked at her, when she smiled at him, when they held hands. She was the only thing that kept him tied to the world, to an existence. 

He placed his hands over hers on the countertop and guided her, turning to face him slowly. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs clearing the tear tracks. Her eyes stared at his shoes. 

"Too late," he whispered. Her deep chocolate eyes met with his silver ones.

"I've already found her." 

Love at First Sight

Okay. This is the longest short story I've ever written and it's still sketchy. I'm pretty sure there are a bunch of holes all over the place so bare with me. I just really liked the idea. 

Hazelnut? Mocha? Mint-chocolate? Hmm....

"Can I get a grande vanilla latte, please?" I asked. 

"Sure. I'll be right back."

My usual table, my usual coffee, my usual day. I sat outside underneath a green and white striped umbrella as the sun made shadows on the sidewalk. My laptop was placed on the dusty glass table-for-two before me, opened up to a fresh Word document. I crossed my legs and leaned to one side of my seat. 

I needed to write another chapter this week if I wanted my book published by the end of this year. For days I had been pondering over what event should occur next in the small romance novel  I'd begun. It was a typical love story that was in definite need of a small twist here or there. Two similar business people were going to meet each other through some friends they had in common, eventually laying eyes on each other and not being able to take them off. Like I said, desperately in need of some zest.

I had tried examining couples in my neighborhood. Old Mr. and Mrs. Bates walking down the sidewalk, holding hands as the sun died down each and every night. High school teenagers leaning up against a tree in the park. A middle-aged couple renewing their vows as a local church. I had yearned to put these intimate feelings into words, sentences, and chapters, but somehow nothing came to do it justice.

"And what would you like today, Mr. Logan?" a young, friendly waitress asked.

She was talking to a man seated an another two's table behind me. He had sandy-blond curls that fell softly over his ears. Tan skin brightened the glow of his immaculately white polo shirt better than Oxy Clean. He looked uniquely sun-kissed with a pair of rimless sunglasses. For a moment, I thought I felt my heart skip a beat. 

"The usual would be great, Tiffany. Thank you," he replied.

Usually, I didn't look at men for more than a couple second; however, something about him was much too attractive for a simple glance. I saw a book rested on his leg, the spine up against the rim of the table. The next moment, he looked my way and I smiled. Whether he didn't care or didn't bother, my smile was never returned.

I returned to my own book-in-the-making. A few sentences came to me here and there, but nothing hit the spot I was concentrating on. I looked around for inspiration. I caught Mr. Logan in the reflection of my screen. I saw that his hand seemed to follow each work on the page. I wondered if he knew that this slowed one's reading speed. 

My latte came within the next minute, and I gratefully sipped my morning usual. Seconds later, his came and once again I turned around. His usual consisted of what looked like an iced green tea and a muffin. A satisfying and healthy choice. I couldn't help but notice that Tiffany had taken a small, pink packet of Sweet & Low and laid it on the lid of his cup.

I watched in the reflection of my computer screen as he continued flipping through pages of his book with one hand while breaking off pieces of his muffin with the other. His face occasionally contorted with slight frustration as his fingers slipped over the page. Before I knew it, I realized I was concentrating on all of his actions.

I focused on the keyboard in front of me and typed away, nails clicking on the plastic buttons. I reread the measly paragraph I'd come up with in the last 10 minutes. Strangely enough, my main character had come to acquire bond, curly hair and tan skin.

I couldn't understand my sudden obsession, for lack of a better word, with the man sitting behind me. I took in all of his details: the aged thong sandals, a small soul patch, a rolex, the old navy shoulder bag leaning against his chair. Although I couldn't point it out, something seemed a tad strange, something I had trouble putting my finger on.

I tried to return to the beginning of my story. His character developed into a general businessman searching for a life beyond the cubicle. 

Part of me was excited because I could feel I was gravitating toward that satisfaction and pleasure with my own writing. The other half of me, however, felt as thought I was invading the personal space of the man sitting behind me.

I positively knew that I had something coming out the his book. I had to continue writing, otherwise it would all go to waste. I felt I needed to ask Mr. Logan for his permission or something. But again, I felt completely silly asking to borrow someone's personal traits. He probably wouldn't even read the book. 

Several minutes passed. I had long finished my latte and was wondering about ordering something else just to buy more time to watch Mr. Logan not so obviously. The character in my book had begun to read a small paperback, tracing each word with his finger. This was getting ridiculous, but it was what my character was telling me to write. 

I saw a movement out of the corner of my screen. Mr. Logan was beginning to pack his book away in the Old Navy messenger bag. Flower petal number one: ask him? Flower petal number two: don't ask him? Petal: embarrassment? or petal: regret? Another petal fell to the ground. 

"Mr. Logan?" I called. Thank goodness we were the only two sitting outside.

He looked up at me. 

"Yes?" he questioned, an expression of slight confusion crossed his face.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Logan.  I couldn't help but overhear your name from Tiffany, but I was wondering if I could ask you something."

A small, nervous smile played on his lips.

"You already have, but sure, ask another, Miss..."

And he's got a dry sense of humor. Lovely. 

"It's Forrester. Jane Forrester. I was wondering if you would mind if I used your, um, personal attributes for a character in this novel I'm writing. Simple things, you know, hair color, outfit perhaps?" (Yes, I know that no one would do this in real life - Zvwooski)

His smile widened a smidge. He picked up his bag and stood. Only then did I notice that he was a head taller than myself.  

"Sure. As long as I can find somewhere to buy a copy once it comes out in print." He chuckled to himself.

Nerves slightly dulled, I found my mouth was able to move again. That was too easy.

"Absolutely, Mr. Logan. I can send you a free copy if you like. Direct delivery." I wasn't kidding.

He laughed again. How was I going to put such a perfect pitch into words?

"Do you have something I could write my address on?"

That caught me. It's a good thing that I had my laptop. 

"Um... Well, no, but if you want to you can type it in on my computer. I won't lose it that way."

"Indeed."

I held it out before me. He lightly touched the edges of the base before he fingered the keys, hastily typing out his address.

I honestly couldn't understand why there weren't more Mr. Logans in this world. 

"Thank you so much, Mr. Logan for being so completely understanding. It doesn't feel right when I don't have someone's permission."

"No problem Ms. Forrester.  I only have a small question."

"Yes?"

"Is it possible to get your book in braille?"

For the first time, and I don't know how it slipped by me, I noticed that he picked up a walking stick leaning against the other side of the table. It was completely white except for the 6 inches on the bottom that were painted red. 

I couldn't help the stutter. "A-absolutely."

Another small smile from Mr. Logan.

"Thank you."

And with that, he walked out of the small eating area and down the sidewalk, moving the cane in rhythm. 

Suddenly it all clicked. I realized what I had missed the first time.

As I heard the fading echoes of a metronome-like crack on the pavement, I knew I found the twist I was looking for.

I realized that I'd have to find a different way to convey the idea "love at first sight."

Bored

Another story I wrote....

Physics class. Most boring of all classes in the 7-period day. Nothing better to make your eyelids droop to that dangerously close state of face-planting into your desk, let alone getting that wicked parallel set of lines across your face from a spiral notebook. Let's just call it a temporary tattoo.

Today was a 10 on the snore-worthy scale of boredom. 90% of the girls in this particular class were wither resting their heads in their hands, blankly staring at the dry-erase board, or texting friends on three-hundred dollar phones, hidden behind outrageously large designer purses. The guys were... well... sleeping. 

With my pen as a metaphorical sword, I fought off said boredom by drawing. To me, nothing was more appealing than doodling on a scratch piece of paper when the teacher couldn't care less. Soon enough, I found myself dragging the tip across the next clean page in my notebook. 

Most of the time, the pictures that I squeezed out of the Papermate were completely random and without purpose. I think today I actually tried to make a recognizable image. It turned out that my love for my guitar weaseled out onto the page. 

I rapidly sketched contour lines for a knobby hand playing what looked like a G7 chord on the neck of the guitar. Swift lines became shadows and a three dimensional figure began to take shape. Another hand followed down to the base of the instrument, plucking away on the strings. Not bad for twenty minutes of monotonous ramble on Newton's theories. 

I guess I also have an obsession with drawing hands. I guess that being an artist has some relation because I haven't figured out how to draw with my toes yet. My hands are my connection with basically everything: high-fives, eating, fixing my hair, driving, playing guitar, cracking my knuckles when I'm nervous, etc. If I didn't have hands, it would be as if my world were in black and white - the real vibe would be missing from the picture. 

Today was also different from the rest on a separate scale. The kid next to me saw what I was drawing. The thing is, he's different. No, scratch that - he's awesome. He wasn't like other guys I knew. He acted his age, not his shoe size. He actually knew how to say "Thank You" and "You're Welcome." He knew how to apply deodorant on a daily basis.  He understood that you earned your grades, teachers didn't hand them out. And he knew how to play guitar. Really well. 

Today he noticed my drawing. He saw the lines and shadows and eraser marks. I caught the fact that his jaw dropped the slightest bit. I pretended not to notice. 

"That's sick," were his words. I took it as a compliment.

"Uh... thanks," I replied, somewhat lamely.

I saw his eyes move up and down my notebook. I hoped that he didn't notice the flaws.

Finally his eyes caught mine. They were bright, emerald green.

I immediately knew what I was going to draw the next time I battled boredom.