Oh My. 5 Months and 19 Days.

31 December, 2010 / 1 January, 2011

Everyone writes at the end/beginning of the year. Well, everyone that writes, anyway. But because I haven't written as much as I wrote last year, I guess I just need to kind of relive all that this year was.

I remember thinking that 2009 was a fantastic year of growth and discovery. But in actuality, 2010 was an even greater year for all of those things.
It is my hope that there will never be just THAT year in which we regard as the year of growth, but rather a year that STARTED many more years of that same mentality. I think there is a year in which we become someone we were not aware that we can be, we learn to become comfortable in this new skin, and we move forward in it. And when we do that, things happen to us. Magic happens. Life becomes bigger and exciting in all sorts of ways because we see things differently.

Last year, I grew immensely into my own identity. I learned to not live my life for other people.

I did this on the Habitat for Humanity trip to New Orleans last year. Every single time I have hopped into one of the big vans to trek for hours on the highway, I have mentally gone over the list of those people I would call my family for the week. They have always been people I typically don't talk to or hang out with. They are not people that know me like my good friends know me.

And last year while I did this, I asked myself, "Why do I still sign up for these trips and hope that I will be chosen to go if I have not ever had substantial small talk with any of these people?"

Not only that, but I was choosing to go on this trip instead of staying home at Band Camp, where many people would say I should've been, because I was needed there. I felt extremely guilty for not being there. I even brought my music with me to practice and memorize.

I always find myself surprised at the seemingly stupidest things on these Habitat trips. Having Sheehan be the first person to wish me a happy birthday on the day I turned 18 really made the day start off wonderfully. Will Schnabel wished me a happy birthday every ten minutes that day, it seemed. As I started work on building a staircase, I could hear a marching band playing in the distance.

I should've been guilty, then. I know I should've thought about everyone at home, almost see them marching and see the hole in the formation where I should be. But while I thought about them, I didn't feel bad.
I learned such a lesson that day. I learned that we are never placed where we are not meant to be in this life.
If I was not supposed to be in the heavy 90-degree weather of the Deep South, building homes among a group of people I barely knew, then I would've not been chosen for this trip at all.

And New Orleans has become a place of home for me. I think about that trip so often, and I think about the littlest things. They're the things that make me happiest.
Snoballs (especially my Hurricane-flavored one). Me holding up Aubry as we got the job done. The lunches underneath the houses. The day in which the port-o-let was sucked out and cleaned. Wheelbarrows. Screws. Nails. Beignets. Bourbon Street. Mr Schoch singing "Baby Got Back" and pulling a Z-formation. Line-dancing with Jeff Gutzweiller. OmNom (I seriously think about that dog, out of the blue).

Another way in which I've grown into my own was by realizing who I treasured in my life...and how some didn't treat me as well as people could have.

I learned that I was giving a lot to someone that never gave anything in return other than a "thank you so much." I figured that if I just kept on giving and being as good of a person as I could be, then maybe I'd win his heart. I tried to put myself in his shoes and do all the things that would win ME over, if I was him.

Looking at it in retrospect, while I wouldn't call it pathetic, it's still painful. And to think that I was totally blind to it...
The old adage is true, that "love is blind." Blindness comes in many different forms, too. And while I know that this was not love by any stretch of the imagination, it was still infatuation, and it still hurts to remember how I was willing to do absolutely anything by means of a good deed in order to earn his attention.

Do he and I talk, anymore?
Yes, seldomly. It's funny how, after looking at someone a certain way for so long, something changes and you're asking yourself "Wow, what did I see there?"
And that's perfectly okay. Because it only opened up the door for someone else, someone who treats me like I should be treated without me having to try and win him over.

In 2010, I didn't "become" anything, because people never stop growing. But I certainly have blossomed into someone that is growing and living in the most positive way that she knows.

There's been some hurting (directed at me as well as being directed from me), there's been some helping, there's been some laughter as much as there's been tears.

I continue to learn how to love in all the different ways that life has to offer. I know it sounds cliche and kind of corny, but living life, for all that it is, is the best thing in the world for me. It's a no-brainer to prefer to be alive rather than dead, but being alive and soaking it all in is what makes everything fantastic.

The next 12 months are going to be stellar. Even the worst moments are going to be stellar. I just feel it.

God, am I an optimist or what?

A Good Thing.

I haven't written.
Last year, I would always write stream-of-consciousness kind of stuff. And this year it seems like I can't write anything.
Part of it is time, and how busy I've been. I got caught up in actually DOING stuff so much that I hardly found time to sit down and just think.
I didn't even write my novel for NaNoWriMo. Shame, shame.

But lately I've wanted to write. In the way I did last year.

--

In the past few months, I have felt myself grow up. I would read things I wrote last year - even this past summer - and I want to slap my then-self across the head. I was ridiculous, selfish, and thoughtless with the things I would write sometimes.

I remember thinking how I used to grow as a person while writing. But I was wrong.
In these past few months, when I didn't write, I've grown so much more in ways that truly matter. I've often had to sit back and realize how much of a different person I am now.

That is what I hope life is supposed to be like. Constant growth, constant change...with important things (the things you can't see with your eyes) remaining constant as a heartbeat.

--

In the last month, I have lost a friend. I've known this person for twelve years now. We met in kindergarten, we were in Girl Scouts together, we shared absolutely everything with one another. No matter what happened between us, we would always forgive each other and move on. It was almost like the kind of friendship you found only in a storybook.

But then...a twist in our plot occured and we parted a little sooner than I had expected.

I remember how vindicated I felt when I sent her a note, telling her that I was not about to be bogged down by her old ghosts concerning Seth, and that I wanted to take a break for a while.

It just...felt so good to stand up for myself. To say, "Look - I'm tired of dealing with your bullshit. Nobody's getting anything out of this other than hurting one another, intentionally or otherwise, so just stop it."

While I have a feeling that she and I will encounter each other again someday, I'm pretty darn happy where I am right now in my life. I'm more okay now than I have been in so long.

I have wonderful friends from all walks of life, good communication between my family, I'm involved in wonderful activities in my high school, I'm going to college next year, and I have a boyfriend who makes everything fall into place in the healthiest way.

I remember about a week into Seth and I being together, Dr Dawson ran into me in the hall one morning and asked me if I had coffee for breakfast. He said, "You just look so...perky, for some reason."

Funny, the things you don't notice about yourself until someone else points them out to you.

--

Just because you're happy doesn't mean you're permanently floating in air, your problems far away.
I have discovered that it is possible to keep your feet on the ground and your head together...while being happy beyond what you could've ever imagined.
Do I know where this'll lead or how long it'll last? No - but it doesn't matter.

I'll take it anyway. This is a good thing.

--

Remember when I said that I saw things differently than I did even just a few months ago?
Or maybe I didn't say that at all...but you get it.
Anyhoozle.

At the Christmas Concert about a week ago, I was walking down the hall with Mom and Seth when I saw Andy Sturm walking toward me with a big smile on his face. I greeted him and he gave me a big, bone-crushing hug that I wasn't expecting from him.

Now, this next part I did not see, but Mom told me two days later...
Apparently when Andy gave me that hug, Seth walked on with Mom, and Mom said that Seth's face looked like his little heart was breaking. Mom wanted to tell him, "No, don't worry, it's okay..."
When she told me that, after me not even noticing it (when I came back to Seth's side, he looked perfectly normal and happy to have me there), I felt like the worst girlfriend ever.

Unconsciously, I somehow got the hint that I had to place some establishment. When Andy came back, I immediately said "Andy, I'd like for you to meet my boyfriend, Seth."
Apparently I said the magic words, the title that Seth now had in my world. I watched as Andy and Seth shook hands in that awkward stand-five-feet-away-from-each-other way that guys do, and as Seth slid back to my side, I noticed something else.

It might've been for a fraction of a second - had I blinked, I might've missed it. But I saw a flash of something cross Andy's eyes as he kept on looking at me, then at Seth, then back at me again. There was something in his eyes that I had never seen before in him.

Was it jealousy? Was it defeat?
It was sort of like a look that silently said, "Huh...so this is the guy."
No matter what it was, it was just so very strange. If I had more guts in me than I do, I would've said to him (which I'm doing now, I guess) exactly this:

"You had your chance, man. You had a MILLION chances. Now go and be happy with the girl you're with now...and care for your baby daughter."

I wish I knew how to break the tension that was filling the air.
I was facing a young man I was head over heels for last year...
...and I was standing next to a young man that makes me happy beyond measure simply because he fits into my life in such a way that I can't really describe it.

I mean, how do you think of small talk while all of this is blowing through your mind?
Looking at someone you once thought was the bee's knees not so long ago...and thinking, "Did I REALLY think of them that much?"

Not to say that Andy isn't my friend and that he isn't a good person, innately.
He is...but I just don't know how to regard him anymore. And that kind of makes me sad. I realized it would've been better to know him more as a friend rather than as that day at the Canal, had either of us wanted to potentially pursue a relationship. In my sixteen-year-old mind, that day had become my main reflection of Andy. And now, looking back on that, I realize that was very naive and self-destructive of me.
Because that day will never happen again. And I'm perfectly fine with that.

That is a very big difference between Seth and all of the other boys that I've liked.
Seth and I were best friends for about a year before we became a couple. We still keep that "friendship" part alive, too, which is the really cool thing about all of this.
We jokingly make fun of each other, we're not afraid to be silly and stupid together, he is patient with me as he teaches me card games (everything from Hearts to Magic: the Gathering), we don't mind that one likes diamonds while the other likes pearls or that one will eat pretty much anything while the other only eats American and Chinese, for the most part.

But anyway.
I think about Andy's face, and the way that I broke Caleb Tucker's heart.
It makes wonder how to maintain friendships with these two guys. I know that I'll learn eventually, but it's so interesting...seeing who makes that leap of faith and who doesn't. And there are so many different ways to leap, too.

So many ways to grow, so many different people to witness it. You have to give those people credit. Watching growth isn't easy - especially for adolescents and young adults because it can get so snarly and bruised. So much confusion.

Some of us are flowers. You know, you flourish in great glory for a while, but then you die for a time. But there's always that promise that you'll return as glorious as you were before. You give optimism and hope. No matter what happens, everyone knows that you'll bounce right back. You are spread all over when the wind blows. You are contagious in the best way.
And others are trees. You're planted, and you keep on growing. You go through seasons of warmth as well as seasons of vulnerability. But you keep on growing, and you only get bigger and greater as you get older. Your brances reach further out and you begin to have little pieces of yourself spread to anywhere that the wind blows.

...wow, what IS it with me and metaphors? Mr Potter, I'm sorry I can't seem to use this stuff when I write for your AP class.

--

Maybe I can't always keep everyone that once meant the world to me, especially if I don't see them in the same light as I used to. Oh well - that's a part of life, I guess.

Not quite sure how to end this right. I ended up jumping from topic to topic like I used to.
Hey - I guess I did this right, after all.

Happiness, happiness.

A Fiery Buzz.

Screw it. The only way I'm going to truly work through this internally is by writing it out. So here I go.

I told my mother about St Baldricks back in July. At first, she said no. Then "no" became "a year into college."
She kept on saying, "I admire the cause...and you're brave for wanting to do it. But...please take prom and graduation into consideration. I mean, once you shave, you can't put your hair back on. I know it's selfish of me to think like this for you, but...please try and consider these things."

I have. And I am.
But what's really making me angry is that I'm actually having second thoughts.

I looked at all the pictures from prom last year. My hair was not much longer than what it is now...it was curly and bright. I won't lie - it looked beautiful. I felt beautiful that night, in all my finery.

And I'll admit it: I take pride in my hair. It makes me stand out.
Almost as much as being semi-bald will.

When I look in the mirror in the morning and late at night, I push my bangs back and try to picture myself with red fuzz. I try to calculate the shape of my head, see if I'll pull it off awesomely like Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta, or if I'll just look awkward.

And the thing is...my hair won't even be short as Natalie's had to be for that movie. I won't be "bald", necessarily...just buzzed.

For this, I'm actually not thinking too much about graduation. It's prom that's got me stumped. What could I do with not even an inch of hair to work with?

This year, I won't be going to just one prom. I'll be going to Southport's, too, roughly a month before mine. If I shave my head, I'll have to brave the questions of a couple hundred people I barely know or those that haven't seen me for seven years.

At Perry, it would be different. I'd ask them to donate some money towards the St Baldricks Foundation about a month before I'd shave my head. I'd tell them what the organization is all about, that thousands of men, women, and children shave their heads in solidarity to represent those with cancer. I'd tell them that all the money they gave me would go directly to cancer research.

I'd be doing it for everyone I know that has experienced cancer, of all types.
My grandmother.
My dad.
My friends Carrie and Julie's dad.
My mom's best friend Brian's parents.

And my hair would probably be up for high demand. I'd give some girl a chance to be a ginger, no matter if she was one before cancer or not.
I donated to Locks of Love the summer before 8th grade, and when they cut my hair they told me that my hair would make more than one wig. That was pretty sweet.

But despite all of this...I still step back and I think. This will be my last prom. And since I'll be going to two proms, it's going to be even more special.

I don't want to not go through with it. I told Andy Sturm that I'd shave with him. And his hair's getting awfully long and shiny and whatnot. It's the only reason he's growing it out at all. I don't want to let him down by saying "Let's wait until the end of May." Besides, March is the "official" time to participate in St Baldrick's events.

A week ago, I proposed the idea to Seth. I had already told him that I was going to shave my head, but after we decided to go to our proms together, I got second thoughts about shaving.

I mentioned waiting until after graduation.
He asked, "Why would you wait?"
I told him that a part of me wanted to go through with it at the right time, but that I realized that these were events that would not happen again. That once I shave, there's no going back. And besides, wouldn't he miss my hair?

He said, "Yes, I'll miss your hair. But I'll be right behind you no matter what. You don't care what others think - I admire that."

In a carefree manner, yet cutting right to the edge, I replied, "Well, thank you. If I end up shaving my head, I'll commend you for taking an almost-bald girl to prom."

And to that he replied,
"Well, hair grows back. Good memories don't."

Call me a sissy, but that made my eyes get misty. It still does.

I still want to shave my head. I just need to get over these second thoughts.
If not, I need to make a decision before January or February and stick with it.

But no matter if I shave in March or after graduation in May...
I am going to shave. And I will not be alone.

Prior to Blue Man.

October 20th? Really, almost a month since I wrote for this thing?
Holy Moses.

--

As of late, it feels like my life's being timed. Time by due dates, assignments FOR those due dates, and considering other obligations (like job hunting).
It makes me tired. I go home and fall asleep without saying goodnight.

--

I had my first college audition on November 5. I wasn't scared or anything, and I don't really know what else to say except that it went better than I thought it would go.

I thought about Mom, and how she kept on talking to me about how excited she was about me being accepted to Ball State. I didn't feel indifferent to the acceptance on purpose.
And I also heard her talk about DePauw. If they gave me a full ride, why don't I just go ahead and go there? And didn't I love it a lot when I went there sophomore year?

It's hard to explain.

Marian's my home. I remember thinking that on the very first day I went to the campus back in March. I remember feeling like I fit. I feel that way every time I go back. If it's money she's concerned about (and I don't care if it is...), then I'll live at home. I'll go home late at night and come back to school early in the morning, so it's not like I'd totally miss out on the college experience.

Do I want to live on campus? Yes, I'd rather do that, living on my own.
But hey. I'm willing to do anything in order to go to the school I want to go to.

--

Now for something completely different.

It's not karma, because it isn't biting me in the butt. But it's rather...a proverbial mirror. I'm now on the other side.

I remember every time Andy Sturm would like me but choose someone else in the end, and the hurt I would feel. The burn in my chest, the sick feeling in my stomach, the confusion buzzing around my head.
The tears. All the tears.

On November 12, I finally got to be in Andy Sturm's shoes.
At least, for this kind of situation.
And now I'd like to address one person.

--

Caleb Tucker, I know you don't want me to say that I broke your heart. But I know I did, just a little bit. And over time, if you'll allow me, I want to help you heal that crack.

We both knew that Seth was going to ask me. And we both knew that I would say yes.
But I know you still felt sad despite your preparing for this. I felt sad for you, because I've been in your shoes before.

I've been where you are right now many times.

Do I not like where I am now? Of course not. I do. I don't regret saying yes and I'm not backing down from it.

But now I realize the desparation Andy Sturm felt every time this happened between him and me.
I hear the sincerity in the plea that he used to say to me, which I am saying to you now: I can't lose you.

You are important. And I recognize that I hold a place of high importance in your life, as well. Please don't think that you're going to take a backseat just because I have a boyfriend. I'm not that kind of friend, that kind of person.

I'm still here. Just as much as I always have been, and always will be.

--

Okay. So you've gathered that November 12 was a rather happy day not just for me or Seth, but for many of our friends. It's almost comical to see everyone elated at the news. What made me smile the most, I think, was when my friend Kirst simply said "Finally."

When I visited Mom and Mark the day after, Mark said to me, "So you're in love."

I paused and looked at him quizzically, not sure if he was joking or not. "Uhm...I don't think so..."

"You're in a relationship? You're not in love? I'm in a relationship with your mother and I'm in love with her!" he smiled.

"You're married," I chuckled, "that's different."

Am I in love? I don't know- I've never loved romantically before.
I've loved unconditionally, without explaination. That's the way I love Seth right now. Grandly. Deeply. Wholeheartedly.
But the romantic way, the way Mark's talking about? I don't know...that's a love I might have to grow into...which is the best way to grow into love, in my opinion, anyway.

Run And Tell That, Homeboy.

Dear Perry Meridian Drumline -

I just wanted to write a little something to you all. I wasn't one of the loud ones on the line, and I feel like explaining a few things that I couldn't find words for until now.

I didn't join Marching Band because of someone older whom I looked up to, or because a spot was needed, or whatever. I joined mostly because Sascha Simpson was a friend of mine that I lost contact with a few years ago, and I wanted to do a little something in honor of his memory while joining something I've always wanted to try.

My first year in Marching Band, I was playing vibes in the pit. For my senior year, I decided to join the battery.

From the first day I put that drum on my shoulders, I have not regretted it. I'll never forget those June and July practices, the day we practiced outside and it rained off and on with choking humidity in between. All those days that we didn't have a full line. I remember missing Band Camp so that I could be in New Orleans, building a house - and there was a Band Camp going on a block away from the site.

I remember how some practices made me ask myself if I had a place in this line. For the longest time, I felt like I was holding you all back from greatness. A principal violist in the Chamber Orchestra on the drumline? A senior marching for her first - and last - season, just NOW learning the ropes? What could possibly come from that?

Well, the person I am today came from that. I'm not only proud of how I've personally improved and grown as a drummer (you have no idea how much I love calling myself that - just as much as I love calling myself a violist), but I'm so proud of ALL of you. We've all grown from what we've accomplished this season.

Looking at it from a personal view, I will tell you honestly that I was not here for the competitions. I was not here to be the best drummer ever. I was not here to escape anything in my life. I didn't walk into this to find a place to fit in. I didn't join drumline for a lot of reasons. I still don't know half of what you all know about drums and playing them - I always learned from you all, and I learned a lot.

I joined drumline because I wanted to make music, and I wanted to make music that I couldn't possibly play in any other venue.
I ended up marching what has been the best show I've ever seen at Perry in my six years of being on this side of the township.

Could we be better? Yes, there's always room to become better.
But right now, the only thing that I can see holding us back is negativity.
Don't let anybody's bad attitude or bad habits - not even your own towards yourself - get in your brain. It'll only fester and grow if you let it in, and that never helps anybody.

Here's a random epiphany I came to not long ago.
We are a powerful line, concerning personalities. We're loud, we're boisterous, and we're proud of who we're becoming.
That's great that we have that family feel going on, the kind of family that always makes fun of each other and makes a ruckus in public settings.
But never let your ego get in the way of your sticks.

As some of you know, I'm not joining winter. It's not entirely because of money, or needing a job, or people on the line, or disinterest.
I have not lost my passion for drums. I'm marching next year when I go to college, for crying out loud. It's not a loss of interest whatsoever.
It took a while to find words to go with reason.

It's simply due to a feeling of needing to move on, almost.
I had such a time with you all. I loved some of it, I hated some of it. I wouldn't take any of it back for the world.
But it's time for me to focus on other things, learn rudiments for college and whatever instrument they decide to put me on at Marian, and keep up my position as a violist.

I know you all may not understand this. And I know you all may be disappointed in me, a little bit.
But I have faith in you. This drumline has an aura of greatness, an aura of passion. That alone is rare. Every single one of you has it, and you won't lose it.

I'm going to miss being with you every day. I'm going to miss making perverted jokes, Kirsht's fist pumps, Owen's troll face, quoting Pulp Fiction, Chris rapping, Katie calling me a million different names. I'm going to miss you all.
But my place isn't in this winter drumline. My place is on the outside, watching you all perform your hearts out, potentially shedding a tear or two. I'll be there.

In short, I guess all that's left to say is simply thanks.
Thanks for teaching this old senior how things roll. (haha...punz)

You are my family. And I love you all.

-Foxy

Whoof. These Are Thoughtful.

I was Googling "deep questions" the other day in the hopes it would get me thinking about the novel I'm going to write in November.

I found this set. I answered them. And I have an idea for my novel.

Feel free to answer these questions yourself, when/if you have the time or interest. These were really good things to dwell on.
I discovered a lot about my own personal character through these questions. It may be just me, but lately I've seen myself be really crazy, rushed, and hyper (...my band self, really) rather than compassionate and kind and introspective.

But read this. And potentially copy/paste, if you want.

--

1. Why not me?
We're not meant to do absolutely everything well. For example, do I wish I could be more involved in Creative Writing Club? Yes I do. Do I wish I made the FOCUS staff? Yes I do. But I am unable to hold an Editorial position in CWC and am not on the FOCUS staff because I am supposed to be devoting more of my time and energy somewhere else. And my life is soon to be beyond high school (thank GOD)...and who knows what kind of things will happen then?

2. Am I nice?
I like to think I am. But I've heard myself think, and I know for a fact that some of the things I've thought have been anything BUT nice.

3. Am I doing what I really want to do?
Well, I'm making music. I write whenever I'm inspired. I laugh every day. I surround myself with good people. I'm working towards my college education for next year. So I guess I am doing all that I want to do at this point in my life.

4. What am I grateful for?
I am grateful for love and passion, vim and vigor. If I didn't have those two things in my life, I would not be able to appreciate life or have any desire to wake up in the morning.

5. What’s missing in my life?
Self-assurance. I am constantly wondering if I have any place in the lives of the people I hold dearest. I try to tell myself that, even though I may doubt it a lot, I AM loved and valued in my own little ways. And I don't need people to tell me that.

6. Am I honest?
Yes. Especially when I write.

7. Do I listen to others?
Yes. I like to listen to others more than myself, sometimes.

8. Do I work hard?
In some areas of my life.

9. Do I help others?
I try to.

10. What do I need to change about myself?
I need to change my outlook of myself in other people's lives. I have no sense of self-worth, especially at my worst. I always wonder if I've ever impacted another life positively (or negatively). I always wonder what role I could be playing.

11. Have I hurt others?
Yes, I have. And it hurt me.

12. Do I complain?
Not as much as others, because I hate it when people complain. But I do let out a little whine every now and then.

13. What’s next for me?
Currently, some hardcore sleep. But in general...who knows. That's the fun part. :)

14. Do I have fun?
Yes I do. I try, anyway. Life has to be fun.

15. Have I seized opportunities?
Oh yes. Many many opportunities. And I have yet to regret a single one.

16. Do I care about others?
Probably more than what's necessary.

17. Do I spend enough time with my family?
Lately, I have not. And it bothers me. I've been so busy with Marching Band, and after Marching Band I'll be busy with the fall play for a couple of weeks. But after that I look forward to having some down time with them.

18. Am I open-minded?
Probably to the point of being a little obnoxious about it.

19. Have I seen enough of the world?
Not nearly enough. I still have to go to New Zealand and Australia.

20. Do I judge others?
Initially, like everyone else. But I try to look past initial judgments.

21. Do I take risks?
More than some people I know. But not nearly enough. That will soon change.

22. What is my purpose?
I have yet to answer that.

23. What is my biggest fear?
Not living an enthusiastic life.

24. How can I conquer that fear?
Keep on living enthusiastically as much as I can.

25. Do I thank people enough?
I try to thank people a lot. But still I feel like it's never enough.

26. Am I successful?
Relatively speaking. It's still a little early, though, to be asking that.

27. What am I ashamed of?
Being too hard on myself when it isn't necessary.

28. Do I annoy others?
I'm not sure. I probably do, sometimes, to people that I don't know.

29. What are my dreams?
Extremely varied. I've had premonitional dreams, and the weird dream I had last night that made no sense.

30. Am I positive?
Very much so. I try to be sunshine-y and progressive.

31. Am I negative?
Only towards myself, sometimes.

32. Is there an afterlife?
Yep!

33. Does everything happen for a reason?
Yes.

34. What can I do to change the world?
Keep on doing what I do best. And keep my head up with my feet on the ground.

35. What is the most foolish thing I’ve ever done?
Define "foolish"...

36. Am I cheap?
Ehh. Probably. I make all the cards I give to people. Haha!

37. Am I greedy?
I try not to be.

38. Who do I love?
You, whom I have tagged in my FB note. And a few others that were not. And someone I have not met yet, whoever he/she may be.

39. Who do I want to meet?
Someone that likes all aspects of me. Someone that can tolerate my writing.

40. Where do I want to go?
Out into the wild blue yonder.

41. What am I most proud of?
Being true to myself intensely, and I'm proud of all of my friends for some reason or another.

42. Do I care what others think about me?
Everyone does, to a certain extent. I do sometimes, but to be honest, as I've gotten older I've cared less and less.

43. What are my talents?
Love. Music. Writing. Memory. Honesty. Drawing.

44. Do I utilize those talents?
Constantly.

45. What makes me happy?
Everything mentioned in #43. My friends. Family. Exploring. Life.

46. What makes me sad?
Negativity.

47. What makes me angry?
Shallow-mindedness.

48. Am I satisfied with my appearance?
For the most part. I like my unique features.

49. Am I healthy?
Pretty much.


50. What was the toughest time in my life?
Sixth grade, sophomore year as a whole.

51. What was the easiest time in my life?
Fifth grade. That was a pretty cool year.

52. Am I selfish?
I try not to be.

53. What was the craziest thing I did?
Whoof. I don't think I've lived enough to think of that one.

54. What is the craziest thing I want to do?
Shave my head for cancer awareness. Which I am going to do in March. :)

55. Do I procrastinate?
Yes...for some things...

56. What is my greatest regret?
I don't regret things. I learn from them.

57. What has had the greatest impact on my life?
Music has a great impact on my life. Writing does, too. Witnessing the struggles and triumphs of those I love is also something else that makes an impact...that actually correlates with my writing.

58. Who has had the greatest impact on my life?
Thus far, a lot of people have had an impact on my life in some form or another.
Sascha Nolan Simpson, Andy Sturm, Taylor Peters, my mother, Seth Worland, Mr Wall, Miss Sheehan, Ortwein.
And I'm sure there are others that have made little impacts, too.

59. Do I stand up for myself?
If I am being challenged.

60. Have I settled for mediocrity?
I never settle for mediocrity.

61. Do I hold grudges?
No. At least, I try not to.

62. Do I read enough?
No. I remember when I was little, I was that bookworm that read in the car, in restaurants, in church. Now I have so much assigned reading that I hardly have time to read for enjoyment.

63. Do I listen to my heart?
Yes. And my gut.

64. Do I donate enough to the less fortunate?
I don't really donate with money. But I go on trips with Habitat for Humanity - does that count?

65. Do I pray only when I want something?
No - I pray when I'm asked to pray, and when I'm thankful.

66. Do I constantly dwell on the past?
I try not to. My future's more exciting to look at.

67. Do I let other people’s negativity affect me?
I tend to make my friends' problems become my own. I worry about them. But when it comes to general pessimism and all of that...it annoys me, but I try to ignore it.

68. Do I forgive myself?
Not easily. There - I said it.

69. When I help someone do I think “What’s in it for me”?
No.

70. Am I aware that someone always has it worse than me?
Yes. That keeps me in check when I think my life is rough.

71. Do I smile more than I frown?
I try to. I laugh a lot.

72. Do I surround myself with good people?

I believe I said this somewhere in here. And when I say I DO surround myself with good people, I don't mean "obedient" or "novel" people.

These people are imperfect. One has hurt me a lot in the past...I'm still sorry for the most recent complication. One has a (beautiful) daughter. One wants to go off to college with me. One lives in Maryland. One has long hair (for a guy) and wears a different hat every year.

I mean, they're not all honor roll students, they've made mistakes, and they're living life to the best of their ability with a dream in mind, trying to figure out who they are. I love these people with all of my heart. Even if I don't remain this close with each and every one of them in the future, they will forever remain in my memory. And if you know me, you know how good my memory is.

73. Do I take time out for myself?
Not nearly enough.

74. Do I ask enough questions?
No - I only scratch at the surface.

75. What other questions do I have?
Well, let's find out.

Works of Fiction and Memory.

I never write fiction anymore.
But here's something I came up with. Is it taken from real life? Sure, some of it is. I tried to tweak it some while making a fine balance between fictional and real.
This is going to take some practice.
Andy Sturm wants to write a novel. I've wanted to write a novel for...years. But now I'm inspired to really start on it.

So here's random schtuff that came to me. Here goes nothing. I hope it sparks good things.

--

He didn't know when it started. It might've been the night they were both a little frazzled and jittery (for different reasons), lights dancing off her hair. God, he couldn't take his eyes off her hair.

It might've started a week later, or two weeks. How long has he known her? It feels like they should've met a long time ago.
So why now? Why her? And why wasn't he stopping all that he was feeling deep within his heart's core?

He found himself trusting her with things he hardly shared with anyone. His dysfunctional mother, his phenomenal father, how he truly viewed himself as a person. He noticed how she hardly said a word as they walked, but listened carefully. It seemed like she was taking every word he said and letting them roll around in her heart, experiencing all the pain and triumph word for word.

And here they were now, on her sofa, watching a movie that he couldn't find himself focusing on. His arm had somehow wrapped itself around her, her head now nestled in the crook of his neck. Her hair smelled like sunshine and fresh air.

The world began to fall away. His logic fell away, that part of his mind that says "Wait a minute" at times like this. It disappeared into oblivion. All he knew was his heart (which was beating very fast), and her presence next to him.

This is right.

Her head suddenly turned in his general direction, and his head dipped a little. He could ever-so-faintly feel her lips. The tension was there. It was almost unbearable...the electricity was insane.

He felt her inch closer to him, a little doubtful, testing to see if this was real. A little more, a little closer yet. What was going on? All was focused on the way her lips opened slightly, her head tilting to the side just so...

The few moments following seemed to fit the description of "forever." No - not even that. It was like time simply ceased to function. When her head found its way to the crook of his neck again, he felt logic trying to crawl its way back in.

What the hell? it asked.
Yes, he agreed. What the hell, indeed.
Why did this feel so right? Why did it feel like he had kissed her before? And why was he wishing to do it again?

The world ceased to exist again soon after those thoughts flew. He became one with the air, his mind away but his heart ablaze. With each kiss that trailed down her neck, he became even more lost.

He found himself whispering something to her, and her replying with a voice soft as a breeze. His hand arose to her breast, cupping it gently, every moment like a poem. Upon that initial touch, he considered himself finished. He was gone.

Later, he awoke with his head on her chest. Her heart beat steadily with slumber. Holding her hand in his, he touched the callouses on her fingertips with his thumb. He kissed each callous lightly, so he wouldn't wake her up.

He soon slipped back into sleep, himself, his cheek grazing the soft fabric of her thin sweater. He wanted to memorize the feel of her, in case this never happened again.

--

And it never did happen again.

Only after months of memory-dreams and rearranging her mind throughout the day was she able to let herself reflect upon that day again.

It was quite a feat, really, to be able to remember it all without a trace of negativity. She could not remember anything beyond touch, or the scent of fresh detergent on his shirt that was soft to the touch. If she made herself be perfectly still...and close her eyes...she could recall the energy burning in the eternal seconds before his mouth enfolded hers, testing the waters while still not backing down. She could still feel his hand tracing the outline of her face, holding it close, and the gentle agressiveness of him biting her neck that one time.

It was a relief, to remember it all without crying or feeling a little sick to her stomach. It was so much better to regard it as a happy day rather than a day consumed by "what-ifs" and mixed signals from that day forward (yes...no...someday?).

But she couldn't help but think "what if" sometimes. In fact, "sometimes" didn't suffice. She always wondered "what if."

And she always wondered if he remembered that day...and if he did, was it anything like she remembered it?

Cellulite vs Silicone?

Here's another funny blog.
I am in the process of writing something profound. But this is too good...

--

*joking about breast implants*

Brandon: I have breast implants.
Me: Oh, really? Lemme feel.
Brandon: No! This water is all for me!
Me: ...water?
Brandon: Er, not water...uh...cellulite.
Me: *dying laughing* Cellulite?!
Brandon: ...I didn't say something right...
Me: It's SILICONE, you dupe!
Brandon: *laughing* Ohhhh. What's cellulite, then?
Me: It's what you get when you're old!!
Brandon: Ohhhh!
Me: If you don't know what's in your breast implants, you're in trouble, my brother.

FridaySaturday.

I hate being a woman almost as much as I love being one.

I just gotta write about what I feel right now. This weekend has been one of extremes - extreme joy, and extreme sadness (well, at least it's extreme compared to how I USUALLY get about that sort of thing).

Let's get the bad part over with. I want to get to the joy and ramble on and on about that.

--

I went to Whiteland again yesterday.
Notre Dame vs Michigan State.

There are truly no words. It's one of those games that you have to process what happened because it happened so quickly.

Dave was drunk off his ass, so he missed practically three-quarters of the game. When Caleb and I were done being designated drivers, he put on his Irish jersey and conked out on the sofa.
Ryan was drunk off his ass, too. But at least he stayed in the garage with Caleb and me and watched the rest of the game in its tense entirety.

After Caleb and I dropped Ryan off at his house, we both sat in the car in stone-cold silence.
But I found myself chuckling a little. Me - having been gone from the jocky nature of my youth for seven-ish years - being upset over a football game? Yes, it was Notre Dame and yes, it was a very intense game...but seriously?

Man. In the words of Caleb Tucker:
I hate everything about Michigan.

But, because I'm silly and because I'm me, I CAN find something good out of last night that kind of segues into the happy part of this blog.

It was so funny, on the ride home yesterday, Caleb Tucker said to me, "You're so into this. I can't imagine what this loss feels on a newcomer such as yourself. What are your feelings right now? Are you going to blog about this?"

I love Caleb Tucker. Being with him always makes me feel happy, no matter what.

--

Okay. Now for the happiness!!

ANDY'S DAUGHTER IS HERE!!

Lilyana Isabelle Sturm was born on Friday, September 17, at 12:30 pm. After having some difficulty breathing, she's currently doing fine. Andy's kept me updated. I sometimes think I'm worrying too much - I've texted him once every day since he went to the hospital Thursday night, asking him how she's doing.

From the pictures I've seen of her, she's absolutely beautiful.
But hey, what else was I expecting, really?
She has a little bit of my best friend in her. Half of his heart - his beautiful heart - is hers.

Today, he got to hold her.
That picture of him holding her in his arms, her tiny little hand wrapped around his finger makes me cry.
Because it's amazing.

Now, this part is hard for me to write...but these emotions have never gone beyond my head and my heart. Never gone out of my mouth...because I knew that they could hurt. It hurt me to even think about it.

In the month of June, from what I had witnessed on his blog and Twitter, I almost let myself think that Andy was not going to be there for the birth.
Yes, I know it was ridiculous. And yes, I know that it was very heartless and mean for what I typically think and say.

But I just read his blog...those entries that made me physically sick...and it was very hard for me to tell myself that Andy had what it took to be there when the time came.
Because, as his blog made me percieve him to be, he had become someone that I did not recognize, like very much, or even love like I thought I did.

But he came to my house after I returned home from Washington DC, and he and I talked in person about absolutely everything...and he and I and a few other friends went bowling with us...and I began to have faith in him again.
He told me, "Something has to change, and that something is me. When I say I'm going to do something, I'm going to do it. I'm tired of letting you down, and I'm tired of letting other people down."

And I know I'll never forget that Thursday he texted me, saying that he was on his way to the hospital because Natalie was going into labor soon. I remember how scared he was...asking me to pray.
I got that text during band practice. After I got that text...let's just say that my mind was not on the field, or my drum.

I felt scared and excited for him...but while I was praying, I found myself saying "Thank you."
Because Andy proved me wrong. He has a tendency to do that, but this time it was something that I'll never forget.

He was there.
He was there when Natalie needed his coaching (and his hand...), and he was there when his daughter was born. There are pictures, therefore it happened.
He was there.

Deep down, because I believe I know Andy that well, I knew that he was going to fall in love with her the minute he saw her...and melt when he finally got to touch her with his finger, her hand gripping it tightly.
And he did. He loves her more than he'll ever be able to fathom.

However, on my end of the spectrum, it's very odd.
You see...I love her. I love this little girl. I took a picture of the picture on Facebook using my phone. And every time I look at it, it makes my heart feel a certain way that I can't really describe - I have never felt that sort of love before in my life, ever.
Is it bad that I love her? When she's not mine in any shape or form?

I asked this to Abbie on Friday night, and she said, "No, of course not. She's the daughter of a friend you love very much. Of course you would love her."

I still don't know. I probably never will.
But it's amazing. It is my hope that I'll be able to watch her grow up. The coolest part is that whole process of discovering who she is - what she likes to do, what music she'll listen to (or potentially play!!), what makes her laugh, how she'll do her hair.

But I digress.
Happiness from this weekend was indescribable happiness for my best friend.

--

That is all.

I love you.

Still A Steady Heartbeat.

Butterflies are supposed to be a symbol of happiness and luck.
Ever since the first day of band this season, I have seen at least one butterfly while we were on the field.

Every time I see a butterfly, I think of you.
And I like to think you're thinking of us, as well.

--

Two years ago today, my friend Sascha Simpson died.
Anybody that was in Marching Band with him or knew him by some other means can get this message, and be lulled into a serious mood for a few minutes.
We all remember where we were, what we thought...when we heard the news.

--

I was a sophomore, going downtown to get my hair cut that Friday afternoon. When I got home, I went online and heard from various people that Sascha Simpson was hit by a car and that he was in critical condition.

When I read his name, a face - a friend - came to mind.
And my first thought was, "It can't be him."

I met him when we were in sixth grade together. We went to the YMCA after school to hang out. I would always show him these stupid videos and songs I'd find online, and I'd go and do my homework or something so he could have the computer.
For the next ten minutes, he'd watch those same videos, back to back. I remember the way he laughed no matter how many times he watched them.

For some reason, when he was held back a grade and I moved up to 7th, he and I lost contact.
I don't think I even really got his last name. That's why I wasn't sure if there were possibly two freshman boys named Sascha. I didn't know...

I was talking to one of my friends in band about it. I asked her, "What does this Sascha look like?"
She said, "Brown hair, glasses, really nice smile. He's German."

And my heart sank.
It was him.

I remember that horrible Monday, when we all came back to school. I went into the music suite as I always did, my eyes stinging with tears. I looked up, and I saw other people crying, too. I don't think there was a dry eye in the music department for that entire day.

During Block Four, our principal came on the intercom. She said "I want to tell you that Sascha Simpson was let off of life support at 9 this morning, and that he is no longer breathing."

Somehow, we got through the week up to Friday. We were to perform at his funeral.
The bus ride was silent, all of us in black, the only color being the new bracelets made in honor of Sascha.

Since Sascha was an organ donor, these bright green bracelets say "Donate life" in English and Spanish.

Chamber Orchestra had to perform first. I remember walking into the sanctuary of Mount Pleasant Church, and seeing his casket. I was struck by how small it was. Sascha was tall as me. He was just fifteen years old...not even his full adult height yet.

And here he was. In that polished casket, all snug and safe.
Right as he was, eternally fifteen.

I stepped behind the casket carefully, sitting down in my seat. The pictures projected behind me made me remember him while he was alive all the more clearly.
We played...we had the opening prayer...and Chamber Orchestra sat down in the left wing.

This was the first funeral in which I knew the person.
And this was the first funeral I ever cried at. And was genuinely touched...saddened, but touched. And even slightly comforted.

We listened to the pastor talk, we listened to Sascha's mother talk. God, she was so strong...her strength was awe-inspiring...all of us that were there remember her voice, clear and German-accented. She spoke slowly, making every word count.
She made sure that her son's legacy was heard...and cherished.

Then the band played "It Is Well With My Soul." I remember looking up and seeing tears stream down their cheeks as they made their musical tribute.
I couldn't think of any other way that Sascha would've wanted it.
All of us...his best friends...making music in honor of his life.

That realization alone seemed to create a healthy sense of closure. It wasn't complete yet, but it was better than where it was at the beginning of the morning.

When I packed up my viola and I walked out to the buses, I noticed that the sun was shining luminously, birds were singing, and there was a nice warm breeze tickling my skin. The smell of almost-fall was in the air.
For the first time in a week, I smiled.

--

A year had passed. And I still remembered.

By that point, I was a member of Marching Band. I don't quite remember exactly when I decided that I wanted to join, but I do remember part of the reason WHY.
I remember thinking about Sascha throughout the year after his funeral. I felt really bad that I didn't get back in touch with him when he became a freshman and was in the high school with me. So I figured I'd give back to his life and do something he loved to do, too.

On the one-year anniversary of his death, I made a tshirt. I painted on words that I had written a few days before, concerning this special date.
"His heart still beats. It's the metronome."
On the back, I wrote the date that will stay forever in my memory: September 15, 2008.

--

And here we are, now. Two years later.
I didn't think I'd say this...but when I woke up this morning, Sascha wasn't the first thing I thought about.

I remembered today, of course, but it did not engulf my mind.
I can talk about it a little easier now. It still hurts, a little, but it doesn't hurt quite as much...if you know what I mean.

Last week, we went to the Southport game, like we did the night Sascha was hit by that car...
And Mr Belt didn't mention him, unlike last year.
But I understood. This year, my class and the class of 2012 would be the only people that would recognize the importance of this weekend.

But Sascha was never mentioned.

I'm one of few that still wear his bracelet.
But I know people that have either lost or broken their bracelets...and they told me how awful they felt when it happened.
I wish I knew where they kept the extras. I know they made a LOT of them. I want to give out those bracelets...those bracelets that keep his memory with us in a tangible sort of way.

It seems like we have moved on to the point where we don't need to acknowledge him by name on this day, because we remember and we know and we still love him - we can say a little prayer for him today or whatever in honor of him, if we want.
...but I want to acknowledge his name. A day will probably come when I don't need to write about him anymore. This is probably going to be the last time, in a while. But I know that I will still remember Sascha when I am in college...when I have a family. And if a friend of my child's dies (heavin forbid), I will be able to tell him or her, "I know what it's like." And I will tell them about Sascha.

When a person dies, after a time, their life is no longer simplified or existant by a date or by their name.
Their life simply integrates with yours, in a sort of way. It dissolves, and spreads out into the little cracks and corners, under the rugs...and you are reminded at the most random of times. And they are alive again, within you while you live your own life.

Sascha Nolan Simpson...thanks. I'll thank you again on Senior Night for Marching Band, but...seriously. Thanks, dude. Without you, I wouldn't be in Marching Band at all. And now I can't picture my life without it.

Thank you.

--

They're also building a sidewalk that runs down Laverne Road (the road he was hit on) all the way to the middle school.
I remember how happy I was the day I saw it.
He is still there. And here. And...everywhere.

MIKE JONES. MIKE JONES.

I don't even know how to begin.

We went to contest yesterday (it's Sunday now, I guess...currently being 1235 a.m.). The drumline was there early, as usual, at 9. We practiced in the cold September rain. We practiced with the band once they got there three hours later.

My bass solo was cut. Well, our bass solo (as a section) was cut, really. But it was given to Strobel...four bars of bass given to bass 1.
I tried to not take it as a personal insult. It just felt like...Austin (my instructor) gave up on me. I felt like he said "Nope - you can't do it," and condemned me to marching in silence.
I still heard my solo in my head, and the feeling of my sticks still against the rims of my drum made me feel empty.
In orchestra, they never cut parts. You have to learn it to the best of your ability and get through it. There's no sitting there in silence while one person in your section plays for you.

I hated myself. I hated myself so much, words can't describe it.
My head kept on yelling at me, "Why couldn't you play that better? What place do you have in this drumline? Why are you even here?"
It made me angry - no, furious.

But finally, we loaded the buses and we headed to Columbus North. I taped my sticks and made myself forget about the cut. If they felt like I sucked that bad, then maybe it was for the best. Maybe we'd score a little better.

When we were warming up by the other football field, my drum felt incredibly heavy. I had no idea why - everything suddenly hurt. The bottoms of my feet, my legs, my right elbow that's been giving me trouble for the past week, my shoulders.
I wasn't about to have this. Not before a competition. Not before the one time that everything counted.

We marched on that prim, clean-cut field. We didn't have any distractions. We were the first in our class to perform.
For having performed our ballad for the public only one other time, I thought we weren't all that bad.
Still, I kind of think the football performance was just a little better. But I'm not sure - both were pretty solid.

When we were in our little huddle for drumline and pit, Dustin told us that we had the best percussion in our class. I wasn't sure what this meant. Did we really have THE best? Could he tell this early in the competition?
I had no idea.

But hours passed, and finally it was time to hand out awards.

They announced that Perry Meridian won Best Percussion for Class AAA.
We won. We won something - therefore, I found out, we placed.
We didn't get a Participation plaque.
We PLACED. Specifically, Third place.

I couldn't believe it.
The drumline I was a part of won something.
All those hours during the months of June and early July...came to this.
All those Saturday camps, including the one the morning of contest...came to this trophy.

"Happy" is too weak of a word to describe how I felt.
"Euphoric" is getting closer.

I was honored to be part of it. But I let myself realize that maybe I wasn't so suckish, after all.
That maybe I DID have a place in the drumline.
That maybe if I let myself grow even more from this success, I could become the drummer I want to be. Someday, I want to play snare.
Today, I was proud of what my family accomplished.
And I allowed myself to be proud of what I have accomplished.

And if you know me, you know I don't let myself do that often.

Insert Meaningful Title Here.

According to this, I have five people that read this blog.
For some reason, I feel like writing again.
So here I go. This is going to be fun.
twss.

--

I just went back and re-read every single post on Caleb Tucker's blog. So if I end up writing just a little bit like him, you'll know why.
But it was kind of cool, to read all of those posts...fifteen of them, I think. The only reason I have this blog is because of him - he kind of inspired me to go beyond Facebook with my writing. And I really really like it.
It's so cool to think that my writing is going places beyond what I aim for. I don't write for the world to see, I write for specific people a lot of the time.

And about writing to specific people...
The one person I feel like I've been writing to for the past year has unexpectedly almost fallen to the wayside, recently. I don't understand why. We just haven't talked for the longest time like we used to. I wonder how he's doing.
I know that I miss him. But I also know that...for whatever reason...I don't view him the same way that I did when I sent him that last long message.

I still think of him as a very important person in my life. I don't want to lose him.
It's very hard to explain, what I'm thinking right now.

It seems as if I'm writing for someone else a lot more, now.

--

For my birthday, I made gifts for those I hold very dearly in my life.
One of the recipients has healthily used his copy, and he told me so.
He told me that gift (and reading stuff I've previously written) have given him inspiration for his writing assignments in his college classes.
The thing is...I feel like I don't write to inspire people. I write because if I don't, I go crazy.

I remember back in the summer, one of my friends kept a Tumblr. Some of the things he wrote about...oh, I can't even begin to describe it.
His entries made me physically sick. My stomach was all kinds of fucked up. And that didn't even compare to how my heart was doing, whenever I'd read his entries.
I'd be so mad. Good God, I'd be so mad. I'd think, "Where's the you that I love? Am I loving a person that doesn't even exist anymore?"

I have so many unsent letters to him during that month.
When he started a new blog, I sent him a message and told him I hoped it would be different from the other one. Then I told him how the other one made me feel.
He said, "Why didn't you tell me it made you feel that way? I'm so sorry - I really am."

It's your blog. You do what you want with it.
If you gotta write, you gotta write.

And I write with no holds barred. I enjoy reading people that write in the same way...especially people I know.
I always think I know people, until they write. Then I see another side of them.

I love that.

--

So, on Saturday I drove to Whiteland so I could be with Caleb Tucker and his family. We were going to watch Notre Dame and Purdue duke it out. It was the first time I had been to Whiteland in six years...it was so bizarre. I used to live south of it, in a town called Nineveh. Oddly enough, Whiteland hadn't changed as much as Franklin had in those six years. It was quite trippy, if you want to know the truth.

But anyway. The game.
It was really fun. Such a good game. And I typically don't follow the Irish.
Except, now, I totally will. I was converted on Saturday afternoon, in that garage.

And Caleb's family. They were such nice people. I felt like I was immediately welcomed into the fold. I could talk to any of them. And I finally met his sister, Emily. She is every bit as cool as Caleb said she was.
After Notre Dame won, Caleb and his uncle Dave started to play guitar and bass right there in the garage.

I love Dave's tat. It's a bass clef in front of a Japanese-character-like thing. It was very cool. Just thought I'd mention this before we go any further.

Caleb started to play bass, and we were all rendered to silence. The music resonated in our chests, fileld the garage with sweet, deep tones.
I snapped pics, trying to capture the magic that consumed my ears and my heart. (yeah, that was corny...)
Faintly, his stepdad, Ryan, murmured "He has no idea how talented he is."
"It's a gift from God," Dave agreed. "The day Caleb was made, God said 'Caleb Tucker, you will be a bass player.' And look at him now."

Yeah. Look at him now.
Not classically trained. Just picks up an instrument and is able to rip it up.
It amazes me.

Unfortunately, I had to leave.
When I got home, I wished I was back with Caleb. My wonderful day now had a cloud over it. I was pissed.

However, Caleb texted me to tell me that Ryan really likes me and thinks that I am "so fucking cool."
That, and a few other things we ended up discussing, made me smile. If anything, it made me feel less one-sided about everything. I'm not elaborating.

It gave me some hope.
Hope is a good thing. And so is happiness.
I can only hope that I give those things to him, during those nights that he loses his confidence and crumbles a little bit inside.
I've been there. And I know it isn't easy to reassemble yourself. I know it isn't easy to allow yourself to grasp that new possibility. But eventually...you do. You don't realize it...but you are grasping it and you aren't going back.

I'll be there for it all. It's interesting witnessing that process in someone else.
Someone that's not me.

---

I don't really know what else I got.
Except for this.

Have no fear.
I love you.

This Is For Caleb Tucker.

---

I wrote a letter to myself around this time last year. From the way I wrote it, I guess my past self thought I wouldn't find this until my sophomore year of college. But my past self asked my future self what she had accomplished, so far.

And the weird thing is...I had accomplished a lot of those things, in just a year.

I've applied to colleges. And I have a pretty good idea where I'm headed.
Those that I thought would still be in my life...are still in my life. Hell and high water came, but those people managed to stay.
I met new people that have come to play such vital roles in my life...roles that I never thought existed.
I have made myself a new kind of musician. I have played at venues that I never thought I'd ever perform at before college.

It's pretty cool, when I think about it.

--

The other day, Mr Potter was talking about how we write and how we percieve things. He said that when we look back at something we wrote in the fifth grade, we notice that we wrote in short, simple sentences back then.

He said that was because a part of our brain was not yet developed.
A part of the brain (frontal cortex, I think...I don't remember) does not fully develop until about the age we are sophomores in high school.
That part of the brain...the part that concocts deep, meaningful thoughts and allows us to see the world in a way that we've never seen it before and helps us to express it...does not develop until we are roughly sixteen years old.

When he said that...God, it was like everything clicked.
When I was sixteen, I remember feeling like I was changing, in the sense of expression. I felt like my very innermost thoughts could somehow be penned to my notebook paper.
The first time I ever did that...writing without really editing my thoughts...I lost someone that I believed to be my best friend. After what happened when I wrote it, and the wordless fight it ensued, I remember how I felt like I had been blinded before by something I could not pinpoint.

There was something new within me, and I had no idea what it was.

I was viewing the world in a different way.
I was meeting people I never thought I'd ever become close to.
I was doing things that would make my younger self be appalled.
I was putting myself beyond myself in ways that I never imagined.
I began to not really care if I wasn't as cool or as well-liked as other people I knew...as long as I liked myself and I was doing what I innately felt was good for me, then the rest would just come as it may.

...and it does.

I have a lot of positivity in my life.
The only negativity most of the time is the way I punch myself in the balls every time I slip up...even when it's a common mistake that anyone could make.
I put up VERY high standards for myself. A lot of times, I have let myself down and I've taken the blame for other peoples' actions.

I'm working on NOT doing that anymore.

My brain has opened up in a HUGE way. My writing has gotten to a level that inspires people (a result that I feel is often misplaced).

I have surrounded myself with amazing people. They are not perfect, nor are they ne'er-do-wells. Some have hurt me, but one thing's for sure: they all give something, and they all take something from being in my life. I make sure I let them know how much they mean to me, and to not let life get them down.

I love in a way that is beyond me. Therefore, it's not understood and has the potential to be feared. But it's the only way I can love. I can only hope that my future boyfriend or future husband can tolerate that...or want it in the first place.

I want to always write like this. I want to always live life differently with each decade, with each year, with each day...while still retaining that bit of me that is always definable and recognized by those that know me best and love me for it.

I never want to fully grow up. I hope to have that hint of Peter Pan in me. I want to keep life an adventure. I want to keep making music. I want to keep making people happy in a childlike sort of way.

--

Every time I'm on the field for band, I see a butterfly. I remember hearing that butterflies meant good luck.

If that's the case, then our band has a lot of goodness in it this season.
Whenever I see a butterfly, I think to myself: "I can do this."

--

Well, Caleb Tucker, I hope this suffices.
I love you so much.

No! No Digital Books!!

At first I wasn't going to do this, since I have the feeling I'll have to do it again for a grade. But we discussed this today and it got me thinking. It reminded me of the first time I ever read this book.

I'll give it to you straight: I loved Brave New World. I don't know why, but i have this thing for novels that focus on utopian societies. I remember reading The Giver in fifth grade, and how I was just so into it...that really kickstarted my fascination with what our society could potentially be if we let it.

But anyway. Back to Brave New World.

In futuristic England, the best way to describe the world and its people is...lifeless. Nobody is an individual, everyone is created in a genetic lab, made a certain way to live a certain way of life. Everyone's in one caste or the other, they ignore all other castes but their own, and they believe their caste is perfectly fine...because they've had it whispered in their ear while they slept as young children, all through the night for years until it's been engraved in their minds.

These night-whispers rule their life, and give them no freedom of thought. If anyone dares to think beyond what's in front of them (...if anyone who dares to think at all, really), they are frowned upon.
One of their virtues is "Everyone belongs to everyone else." Therefore, everyone thinks the same and offers themselves up to everyone else because that's what is supposed to be.

They go throughout their lives doing whatever duties they have, and continuously engage in sexual activity with numerous people. It's considered odd to stick with only one person.
Women are perfumed, polished, nipped and tucked into these doll-like specimens of supposedly-perfect beauty.

There are no parents ("Father" and "Mother" are considered bad words). There are no diverse languages. People that do not fit into this society are sentenced to live in a reservation, where they live - literally - like savages.

Everyone was happy. Everyone was happy because they were blind...unliving. They did not experience pain (they literally had a happy pill called soma), sadness, discomfort, filth, or any emotion other than happiness. As long as everyone was happy, everything was stable.

And this world lived for stability.

When I was reading this book, I was always rereading certain lines or paragraphs.

There's a part when Bernard takes Lenina (and sexually has her for a week) out to Arizona to see a savage reservation, and while they're settling in, he suggests they go for a walk outside around their hotel, so they could be alone. Lenina points out that they WILL be alone, later. Bernard clarifies that he's not talking about being alone for sex, but being alone so they could talk.

"Talk? But about what?" Lenina asks. As the book says further, "walking and talking seemed an odd way to spend an afternoon."

People have sex without getting to truly know the person, just to be satisfied and in a happily-sexual stupor, instead of going on a walk and having an in-depth conversation face-to-face that really grabs at the cold truths of life...or maybe even a conversation that's lively and full of jokes.

When I read that, all I could think was "...is that true or is that true?"
So sad.

We have drugs so people can be dumbly happy.
We have digital books.
We are losing the arts community because people are not patient enough to take in the emotion that goes into art.
Girls are sucking up, poofing up, and revealing more and more.
People would rather be on Facebook than go out with friends and talk in person.

It's scary, you know?
Really scary.

Go read Brave New World. Or Fahrenheit 451. Or The Giver.
And wake up from your stupor.

I'm Getting Sick.

Every fall and every spring, my nose acts up. It's annoying...distorts my voice. But then I realize that people have to go their entire life with that nasally tone, like Alie Hansen.

And my relatives in Wisconsin. Hell, everyone in Wisconsin and Minnesota, really.

--

Well, last week was my first week of my senior year of high school. It was more awkward than most first weeks, because we had to adjust to an eight-period schedule. No more hour and a half block schedule, with four classes a day. No more extra days to do homework. No more "Ugh, it's Monday...at least it's a Blue Day!" No more seven minutes to get to class (five minutes sure will keep us awake).

In all honesty, I don't dislike the new schedule plan as much as the teachers do...they HATE it.
It could be that I don't dislike it that much because I'll only have to do this for a year, but I don't know...

What strikes me the most is the atmosphere that my class has - and the attitude my TEACHERS have towards my class. Like it was spoken at the senior class meeting: "You made it! You're seniors! You know what we expect of you, help us out with the underclassmen. Now, get back to class."

When I was getting gas on Friday after school, I just leaned against my mini-van and thought...
When will the pride begin?
When will we start to BEGIN things, get everyone pumped up?
When will the epic-ness of the Class of 2008, 2009, and 2010 fade to our own epic-ness?

When will I feel like I have earned the right to be principle violist in the best orchestra in the school?
When will I feel like I can carry this "I'm a good student, I can do this" vibe up until the day I recieve my diploma?
When will I come home from Marching Band and feel like I have a place in the drumline...the drumline that I love, and the drumline I love being in?
When will I finally feel like a senior?

Yesterday...Saturday, August 14th...I applied to two of my four schools that I want to go to. I applied to Marian and DePauw.
Just doing that was very interesting. I found myself NOT being nervous or unsure, but rather excited and sort of stoked, really.

My mother was the one that was nervous. Thankfully she didn't hover over my shoulder while I applied online, but she was framing two posters nearby, ready to answer questions ("DePauw wants to know when you and Dad divorced...")(yeah, that was very strange)

And today was...ew. That sums it up. I felt my nose tingle and my throat was sore, meaning tomorrow my throat will be normal and my nose will be stuffed up. Probably for a week, if I take Benadryl.

I spent most of the morning/afternoon curled up on the sofa with a comforter, thinking about things.
I had a dream on Friday night that was vivid. And when my dreams are vivid, that means they mean something. This dream made me think, but I don't know the meaning behind it.
I wish my subconscious would tap into other issues in my life that need to be reinvestigated.

It's hard to describe, but I just had the feeling like I had to define myself and stand up for the way that I live my life, the way I love people, and the way that I want to live my life when I'm out of college and on my own with a real job and wanting to settle down with someone that actually wants to be with me forever, you know?

It felt like I needed to make decisions, and make statements, take a stand.

But instead of feeling full and triumphant, I felt feverish, sore, and like I needed to do grown-up tasks.
So I finished my AP Psychology notes for this week, and tried to not focus on how I felt whiny and half-assed.

It must be PMS. I think it is. So it's a good thing I disregarded all of that.

But I managed to NOT whine about it upon feeling it, so I guess that's an accomplishment. I talked with Andy for a couple of hours on Facebook, and that cheered me up a little. It always makes me feel good when he get ahold of me first.

Sometimes I feel like I interfere with his life when he doesn't need me, and that I'm just that odd 18-year-old that tells him the things that I think about late at night, that I am here for him, and exactly how I feel about whatever may be going on in either of our lives. Sometimes I wonder why he would want someone like me still around...when I am where I am in life. Will it be different next year, when I'm in college as well? Will we even talk to each other in a year, or three?

I wonder that for ALL of my friends.

I think I'm going to go have a psychic reading sometime soon, when I can go to the North Side. It's not like I'm really expecting them to give me all answers, but it'll give me some new insight. And there's nothing wrong with that.

I like looking at myself from the outside...from other people's voices. Whenever people randomly tell me exactly what they think of me, what they see in me or hear in my voice... I love it. Nothing like it in the world.

No, sir.

My Heart's Cheesin'.

Seriously. My heart cannot stop smiling.

Today was such a day. I don't know why I'm making such a big deal out of it, but it's like my soul is aflame with intense happiness and positivity that it can't be contained or secret.

The day started off kind of rough. It was a hot morning to be outside. But when I went to b-dubs with roughly ten of my friends with endless glasses of water, energy began to build. We quoted Monty Python and played trivia. And for some reason, my wings were orgasmically delicious.

Is "orgasmically" a word?
Oh well, it is now.

So I went home after b-dubs, showered and all that, when I double-check with Andy to see if he was still wanting to watch Southport's Marching Band practice this afternoon.
In his text, he replied, "Hey, would you maybe want to go bowling tonight?"

I spent the next three-ish hours with him and his friends from Center Grove. During our four games, we laughed and joked around (pissing off surrounding hardcore, 70-year-old bowlers), playing pranks on each other, having great TWSS and bow chicka bow wow moments, and I told stories about New Orleans.
I had never known anybody that goes to Center Grove, but the minute I joined the group, I was immediately in the fold.
I had roughly three strikes total today, which made me take second place only to Andy. It got to the point where I would do a happy dance, then skip back to the group and be ambushed by hands prepped for high-fives.

After the last game, we all headed to Panda Express and continued the laughter and story telling.
It's hard to describe. It was just...such a fun, good group of people.

Only a few hours, but it really made my day all the more amazing.

After we left Panda Express, I headed for Southport to watch their practice. At the five minute break, I saw Seth (the head drum major and one of my best friends) start to head straight for me. I stood up, met him halfway, and he gave me a tight hug.

We would've talked a little longer, I'm sure, but it started to rain and so they headed inside while I drove back home.

Today, for some reason, had a magic to it. I don't know what, exactly, but it was just so wonderful.

And that's when I realized that I had the concert on Friday to look forward to. And many more days in the upcoming future, I'm sure.

Bring it on, God. Bring on the happiness.

1 August, 2010

Well, we left New Orleans at about 7.
At first, I just wanted to get home at a decent hour so I could go to sleep.
But as we crossed the bridge to get to the other part of Louisiana, I found myself wanting to go back. I really loved New Orleans.

As I typically do when I return home from trips, I was remembered of old ghosts that would return.
I need to re-investigate certain parts of my life. I guess I always do, but I won't have construction work to distract me for a long while.

When I look back on this weeklong adventure, it's almost...weird.
I wasn't close to anybody on this trip again, but like the year before, I could sit down with any of them and have a conversation. New friends were formed.
I remembered what I was missing back in Indy, and who I was leaving behind, but I realized today that I was meant to be somewhere else this week, and that was New Orleans.

We are never placed in places we are not meant to be, in life.

The hilights of the week bring it all together.

The Best Flea Market in the WORLD.
The guy with the glass harmonica.
Walking the streets of New Orleans on a Sunday night.
Bourbon Street.
Seeing the French Quarter the very next day in the still of broad daylight.
That first bite of a beignet.
The story game: "I looked down and saw my wang!", Kelsey and "The War".
The little worksite dog that had more than five names before we settled on OmNom.
Being reminded that it was my birthday ALL DAY.
Taco Night. And my cupcake with the cool candles.
Building the staircase.
Going to the dedication of the completed home two blocks away.
Working with the future owners of the homes we were building.
Patrick. 'Nuff said.
Will Schnabel daring me to drink red gravy.
Seeing all of the Saints gear. (boo!!)
Finding the scariest laundromat in the world. And having fun.
Snoballs at the end of every day.
Holding Aubry up to put in styrofoam and insulation above the bathroom.
Spindles (we that worked on them know that was our undiscovered calling in life).
Line dancing.
Going into the city for the last time.
Dancing in the car.
Daniel Schoch rapping, and his Z-formation.

All those things make the not-so-great moments (like Sheehan's Risky Business moment, falling down, and breaking her camera lens) not seem too bad, you know?

The life I have to return to will work out in its own way and in its own time. It will be a challenge, but I can't run away from everyone forever. And I don't really want to.

People I know need me, not just the people I don't know.
But I realized something I already knew: while a fair few people mean a lot to me, I might not mean a lot to some people. And I can't get upset over that.
People say they love, and people say they need. But do people love because they need, or do they need because they love?

I will no longer let myself cry over broken promises. The broken promises I've cried over are petty and selfish compared to other broken promises that exist in people's lives.
Even if promises will never be totally rock solid, I can always hope for the ones that just might be.

Such strange epiphanies that I make on these trips. Such lessons I learn about myself, all while doing work for someone else.

I said that I was going to return from this trip, 18 years old and a better human being.

I am 18 years old.
And I can only hope that I am a better human being. And I think I am.

Rowdy 5000...
Keep it sleazy.

30 July, 2010

Today stupendously picked up from yesterday's slowness and foul stench of the port-o-let being sucked out and cleaned.
While today started out slow (sweeping), it got interesting once Aubry and I were both jobless.

Patrick, our leader who's sinfully easy on the eyes in a Robert Downey Jr/Bradley Cooper kind of way (and his suspenders with his tool belt...), paired us together to nail some wood in a few odd places, then nail styrofoam-like material to the interior of the roof above the bathroom as well as adding insulation.

We got the wood all right, but once we got to the styrofoam, we were immediately in trouble.
We had to reach the slope of the roof in order to nail the styrofoam.
We are both NOT blessed, concerning height.

We were about to ask Pat what we should do, when I saw him giving similar instructions to the group next door. I saw him standing on the soap ledge of the bathtub.
"Let's try that," I said to Aubry.

And so Aubry had to rely on my hands to support her while she hammered as lightly as she could while still being productive (and not fall off the soap ledge). I hoped I wouldn't fall, either, considering that I was standing on the railing of the bathtub.
"I've never felt so close to you before, Chloe," she joked.

Then Alex Carlisle walked in...
"SHEEHAN! CHLOE'S HOLDING AUBRY'S BUTT!"

Like I was. Oh, Alex.

26 July, 2010

6:15 pm (New Orleans time)

Apparently there was a nasty storm last night. But because I am my mother's daughter, I slept deeply through it all and awoke, ready to explore the city in daylight.
Last night was crazy. Even on a Sunday night, the streets were hopping.

We walked around for a few hours - me and four others - and perused the shops. So few were open before 10. I bet a lot of people call in on Monday morning, from what I saw last night.
New Orleans is different on Monday mornings. The party-feeling from last night was gone, and replaced with quiet stillness in the narrow streets, the air thick from last night's storm.

We stopped at Cafe Du Monde, and I ate a beignet for the first time in my life. For those that don't know, they're "French donuts", kind of like smaller, fluffier elephant ears with powdered sugar. Very messy for the floor, but it melts in your mouth when it's warm.

We walked down Bourbon Street. Apparently it's famous, for some reason or another. It was...interesting, to say the least.
The best part was when a small troupe of kids ages 8 and younger walked by "Sex Acts by Men and Women", and they laughed while the owner tried to cover up the photos posted on the windows. "Don't look - keep walking!"

(Taylor Peters...I still want that pecker that hops around when you wind it up!)

We went into another shop and looked at mardi gras masks. I got myself a voodoo doll that came with instructions and needles already pinned in. I almost wish I had gotten a real mask, but oh well.

The parish we are staying in for the week was not anything like I was expecting. It's ten tines nicer than Camp Victor was. But I guess I can deal with that.

At Walmart, Sheehan ruined the surprise.
"What kind of cake do you like?"
Looks like my birthday will be recognized, after all. And it looks like my birthday is going to fall on TACO NIGHT! Cha cha cha!!

Oh, and Sheehan had a meltdown when she realized she forgot journals for everyone. Such a funny meltdown, too.

Quote of the day was when we played this game in which people write stories, and four people go to the front of the group...the story being told is one of the four's, but all of them have to act like it's they're story.
Brandon Walsh was asked how he knew that there was a hole in the crotch of his pants, and he nonchalantly replied "I looked down and saw my wang."

25 July, 2010

10 pm (New Orleans time)

We crossed a bridge and descended into what appeared to be the French Quarter.
Tight streets, gas lamps, and Christmas lights were everywhere in sight.
We settled into out hotel - small but cool all the same - and set out to explore the streets.
Mom told me that New Orleans was a filthy, dirty town - but that I would love it. Having grown up watching Interview With The Vampire, I wondered if this town had changed much since the time period portrayed in the film.

It didn't. It looked just the same, even in the aftermath of Katrina.
It was dirty, it had little shops that sold voodoo dolls and mardi gras masks, psychics and gypsies were on every corner.
Even at this late hour, our only light being the gas lamps, this city was magical. There truly are no other words for it.

It's times like this that I'm happy my phone's off. I wanted to share this with everyone back at home, but I remembered the feeling from last year - that this was my trip, my time, meant only for me.

I'll Be Back August 1st.

This is my last night with a computer until August 1st. And the weird thing is, I don't know what to say.

Last night, I saw Inception with my dad. My mind was blown. I have never seen a movie that made me feel the way this one did. I've seen Dark Knight, and I've seen Avatar...both movies that impressed me, but they did not compare with Inception.

I just sat on the hood of my van for a long time after I walked out of the theatre...unable to speak, trying to wrap my head around what I had just seen and heard. I watched the marvelous heat lightning in the sky silhouetting the clouds

They talked about ideas getting into your head. They said that once an idea was placed in your head, it could shift the world and make the rules bend.

And that presented a thought to me: when we meet people, we form an idea as to who they might be to us. Someone that loves us (a little or consumingly), someone that looks down upon us, someone that intimidates us.
Therefore, when people turn out to be something that's the opposite of our idea...we end up either being hurt or being surprised. And we have to adjust our entire view of that person. It's difficult to shake an idea away.

They also talked about the subconcious and the human mind. It talked about its power and what people do to themselves in order to live the life they desire. One of the quotes from the movie explains this pretty well:

"She locked away a secret, deep inside herself, something she once knew to be true...but chose to forget."

We all have those, you know. Locked deep within our subconcious...things we've chosen to not think about anymore, and try to forget entirely. But eventually those things return to us, in some form or another. And we have to face them again. They cripple us.

It's not good, though, when you're like Mal and you lock away the sense of reality. You live in a place where you're happy and full of bliss...
In a dream. And you decide to never wake up. You can't decipher what is real and what you've fabricated yourself.

The subconcious is such an entity in and of itself. It is raw. It does not go easy on you. It is not polite, and it is not kind.
It accepts things your concious mind does not. I started to learn about the subconcious in Journalism, when Mr Wall talked about writing with your subconcious because you write better that way (and you really do). And this movie took it to a whole new level.

It's so difficult to talk about it, even with all this. I need to see it again. Because I seriously still have to think about it all.

--

And now for something completely different.

I went back and read everything I had ever written since my good friend Sascha Simpson died September 15, 2008. It was such a thing, to see how my writing (and thoughts) have gotten deeper and so much better since then.
Mr Wall said that good writing takes practice (and lots of reading), and a lot of thinking.

I've sure done a lot of thinking. I've done a lot of living, too. And loving.
I think those two things really made my writing get better.
I like to think. I like to live. I like to love.

Those are my three favorite things to do.
But mostly...I think I like to love the very most. I feel happiest and most alive when I love.

Anyway. I found a few entries in which I wrote about the trip from last year. It made me excited about this trip coming up. I'd once again be traveling to a new place with people I wasn't necessarily close to...with no cell phone and no Facebook.

To make it better...there are two things.
One, my birthday's on Tuesday.
Two, I'm going to meet Tropical Storm Bonnie. (I promise you I will not be sucked in!)

I can't wait to write. I can't wait to go on this adventure. I can't wait to escape from the world for a week. It is going to be amazing. I can feel it now. I don't think I will be sleeping a lot tonight, and that means I'll sleep a lot in the van. Which is probably a good thing. Those rides were very long, and very cramped.
(bow chicka bow wow)

Wow, I'm on a roll tonight.

I'm going to drive a nail (or a hundred).
I'm going to get a farmer's tan.
I'm going to turn eighteen.
I'm going to laugh.
I'm going to write.
I'm going to smell like stinky boy at the end of every day.
I'm going to have a blast in the French Quarter.
I'm going to take lots of pictures.
I'm going to dance and sing.

See you all when I return! I'll be thinking about you.

Caleb...Andy...Katie...Seth?...Mom...
I will be expecting your calls, which I will listen to the minute I get back.
I promise you that.

I love you all. And I'm gone.

...You There?

Something's up. My intuition might be on high or something - either way, I'm super aware of what's going on around me, all of a sudden. Maybe I'm trying to gather all that I can before I leave and disconnect myself from the world for a week. Who knows.

--

I visited my friend Caleb Tucker two weeks ago, because he said he wanted me to record a song with him. I took my viola over to his house and from the minute I walked through the door I could tell that he was not there. Whenever he talked to me, his voice was not talking to ME - he talked to the air. He tends to speak rapidly anyway, but his voice was like a cheetah. He would not look me straight in the eye, and even though we listened to the song a few times, he was not listening to the music like I was.

I thought to myself, "What did I do? Does he...not want me to be here anymore?"

I stuck around for a while longer - and I ended up staying there all day, practically. We went out to Guitar Center, and grabbed a bite to eat afterwards at about 9:30. It was only during dinner that I saw a glimpse of the old, light-hearted Caleb Tucker that I recognized.

I visited him again on Tuesday night, even though I was pooped from the day's activities. He acted the same way - we went to the mall and I helped him pick out a necklace and a bracelet, but whenever I talked to him, his mind and his reply was always directed somewhere else. I almost said, "Yoo-hoo...can you hear me?"

So Caleb, if you're reading this...I hope none of this offended you - I don't want to do that. I'm just telling it like it is.
I miss you. I hope you're back when I return.

--

June was a weird month for me. It contained the orchestra tour to DC, which was one of the best trips I've ever taken in my entire life...but it also contained a lot of sadness, mostly fabricated from my own mind.

I remember back in May, when I told myself that Andy Sturm would not be someone that would cause negativity in my life. When I started talking to him after a week of NOT speaking to him, he was happy to talk to me again and I thought I had gotten my mind and my heart (regarding him) back in a good place.

But I was wrong.

In June, I had a nightmare about Andy that really shook me. I wondered if it was a nightmare or if it was happening in real life. I didn't know what to make of it. I knew the message clearly, and it scared me when I realized that it was the truth.

While I was in DC, I had enough. I wrote an ultimatum. I didn't end it with an "I miss you", "I love you", or "I'm here for you."
I spoke what I felt.

I got a response from him about an hour after I sent it - which meant he read it, and that made me feel somewhat heard.
He visited me a day later, after work. He came to my house at midnight, and we sat on my sofa for a hour, talking and talking. We laughed, we talked about the tough stuff, and I gave him a notebook filled with quips of wisdom from Mr Wall and little quotes I found from various sources.
I didn't speak much, during that hour. But I remember I said something, and he just looked at me with such an expression on his face. It was like his entire face softened, his mouth slightly curved into a little smile, and his eyes looked directly into mine.

I wish I could see that look every single day.

There's no way I can describe how much I wish I could look into his mind to see how he thought when he read that ultimatum.
After he read it, he kept on saying how he was going to change and how he was tired of letting people down, all this good stuff.
I reread that entire chain of conversation - not his response, but my initial note. My voice kind of threw me off-guard.

I didn't sound angry. I didn't sound sad, even.
I read it, and the only word that came to mind was this: torture.

Like my heart simply could not put up with any more promises that fell through, high hopes that kept on crashing down, me beating myself up for his false deeds, and for being unsure of exactly who I was sticking up for whenever someone said something malicious about him.

I still read it...and I still think, "Chloe, you sound so tortured."

Was that what he read, too?
I'll never know, I don't think. Unless he messages me with no fear, like he did once before.
...that's one of my three wishes for my eighteenth birthday: for Andy Sturm to speak to me with no fear as to what he feels deep within himself, in that part that he doesn't like anybody to see because he doesn't know what to make of it.

Little is he willing to believe, that part of him is what I love to see the most.
It reminds me that there really are humans left in the world. The real kind that fuck up and still find beauty in life either from their faith or from getting back up whenever they're knocked down...and still love life for all it's worth.

I understand that this might just be a small chapter of my life...him and all that comes from knowing him...
But it's worth it. It's totally worth it. My life would not be what it is without him there.
Besides - just because someone might leave your life at any second is no reason to not get to know them (or love them) at all.

Why else do you think we live life? We can't do this alone - how miserable would that be, right?

--

Well, that's one wish down. Two more to go.

I hope that the trip to New Orleans will give me an opportunity to become more in touch with ME. I won't have my family around, and I won't have my friends around - at least, not my best friends.

I'm going to be totally out of touch with all of them.
And I'm going to turn eighteen without my mother calling me at the exact minute I was born to remind me that it's my birthday, and that I will now be a legal adult.

(...why 6:58 in the morning, Baby Me? Why??)