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.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
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.
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.
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."
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.
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.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
...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??)
--
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??)
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