let all the damn details go

Oh yuck. I don't need this. I refuse REFUSE to act as if a minute explanation could affect me more than marginally. Am I happy? Yes. Would I change my current situation? ABSOLUTELY not. I need to accept the reality that there are things I will NEVER know, and not knowing them doesn't mean what I DO know has any less meaning.

I guess it's not so much a desire to know, as it is a feeling of entitlement, or a notion that I deserve satisfaction. Or even, quite possibly, an offensive tactic: an effort to teach (or scorn) YOU based on MY disagreement with your action. Perhaps even to announce, that YOU are subpar, and I am enduring YOUR stupidity.

But the problem then becomes this: all of that raises me above you. And that, is simply untrue, because frankly? I'm not.

*Sigh.* And there goes another erruption of emotion, that further demonstrates the need to LET IT GO. Let all of the damn details go.

In THIS action, there is relief. Accepting the 'unknown,' and its eternal presence in the world.

Let Her Cry

I sit here listening to the Counting Crows sing lyrics of a daddy's girl past. I remember my unwavering assurance in the man I called my father. His jokes were funniest, his ideas were the epitome of influencial, and his approval essential. Since then, reality's desicrated his reputation. I love him though, unconditional of his setbacks and our through rifts. Even if the biggest obstacles are derived from his own choices. Now I know if there's any hope to love, and to be loved, this earnesty is required. Humility doesn't hurt either.
Who's to say the very next second doesn't bring my last breath? Who the hell am I to declare what I do 'right' and the next person 'wrong'? Too often it's emphasized that we should "live each moment like it's our last," meaning we should experience all that we can and not hold back. I don't want to leave it there. I want to live each moment the best, most qualitatively, that I can.
So many people I know, including my dad (including me) are living with a gushing heart just barely beneath their surface. We rhythmically glide through days asking, "how are you?" and replying "good thanks!" as our eyes wander the room and thoughts shift independantly of our words. We don't eat; we chew and swallow. We don't learn; we memorize. We don't think; we manuever. We don't walk; we rush. But sometimes, something pangs our weakness, and the exposure of the thing we fought so hard to hide, reveals us.
Sky diving turns into bungie-jumping, and the rebound of the cord is all the more jarring; guts dropping at the bounce.

My biggest aspiration is to encourage someone else the way I've been inspired. To say, "I see you," and mean it. To delve into the depths of myself, and as a result challenge someone else to do the same. To smile for a genuine reason. To be complimented and deserve it. To shine brighter than gold. To be alright with never receiving recognition by mankind. To deserve my own respect.

Lately I've felt content and glad I am where I am. Specifically, Adelphi University. Suite 2B. IDMR, Queens, NY. The Honors college. A business major. 135 lbs. With friends, but not too many. Involved a smidge in Dance Adelphi. Single. I refuse the notion that any of these situations are happenstance.

I'm determined to live both hungry and full. Both to want and to be thankful. Really, this is the only way I can be happy. I know this.

Ew

I'm incredibly sick of dating. I've said this before but now, I really do feel it. I need a break. To take things slow. To relax and breathe. And to appreciate being young.

shrug

"I had to go and fall in love again." -- She & Him.

Good news? I bitch-slapped that Western Civ final and now Spring Break can justly commence.

Alternate news? Singlehood. Eh. The only thing worse than that would be quasi, unofficial singlehood. At least I'm not in that situation. Oh wait.

Best news? North Carolina beach in T minus several hours. I don't actually know what that term means, but I'll be there... soon.

If life were a swimming pool, I wouldn't dare dip my toe.

Dancing on the surface,
but never diving in,
teaches graceful movement,
but never how to swim.

Funny how obscenely correct intuition is and can be. Malcolm Gladwell had his head on straight when he wrote "Blink." It's chalked full of experiments strongly suggesting that first impressions are valuable. I wrote that blurb when we very first started dating. I think I could tell way back then, I'd be the droopy eyed puppy in this sorry situation. I throw myself in head first, and he's much too refined. I'm a hopeless Romantic and he's Enlightened. (Excuse the Western Civ reference, but I've not gotten too much time away from that textbook in the last two days.) But it's ridiculously true. I'd much rather, anytime, anywhere, choose to further a personal relationship than do something "constructive" or "responsible." Don't get me wrong, I get shit done, but much later at night than most of my other roommates. I thrive on emotion, passion, enthusiasm and mostly, conveying it all. He's logical, consistent, and dignified; traits I admire but involuntarily clash with.

sigh.

Alone time? Yes please. And thank you.

Content, giggly, excited, invigorated, thankful, happy, and ravenous for more.

I stare up at the ceiling fan. It swirls the air around me, while noisily clinking away. Two of four lights are broken and the hanging chains cannot be silenced.

I softly settle into the quasi-dimness and marvel at the enormity of it all. My tiny moment, envelpoed in the fabric of all heres and nows presently occurring. And I? I'm privileged to witness this one. To thrive in this heightened awareness. I've accepted loose ends, and instead of fusing each together in an artificial knot, I've let them hang as naturally as they've occurred. I realized they needed no fixing (none that I could offer at least). Sure enough, success has threaded its way through the dangling strands as it was destined to. I marvel at the comfort I revel in, knowing I had to rush nothing. Circumstance introduced me, experience taught me, and reflection? It exposes my minuteness. All has invigorated me, though strangely, I've hardly influenced any of all.

But to an extent, I have. And this flicker of light makes me smile.

I want to be like a tiny bug, with huge, round eyes.

Adios blogspot

Blogging has been good for me. Fun for a time. But I'm ready to go back to my 3X5 inch notebook, in which I don't worry about proving the profoundness of my thoughts. I miss the raw outlet of embarrassing or elated or depressing thoughts. As and when they strike me. Grammatically incorrect and all.

Goodbye ol' blog. And know, there were secrets I kept from you. But none I kept from myself.

Tortilla chips and cheese dip

Why is the one, most prominent weakness being challenged like no other time in my life? All of a sudden, WHAM! All of these bustling hands and eager voices swarm around me. There's so much buzzing, I can't possibly communicate richly with any one source of the noise. I'm limited to expressions, each punctuated by time's scarcity. But trapped also by my lack of concern. Except for that one. That one. And the reciprocation I finally received, is trapped by too much concern on the other end. Catch-22. Irony. Climactic arrival. Sigh.

Special attention isn't special, when given to everyone. Not everyone deserves it. The level of attention is stacked over time. It builds. I have to take the time to assemble these little structures of trust. Protection is a must.

We love talking about ourselves, don't we? I really don't care that you got an A. Or that you were crowned royalty by strangers. Or that you have an astronomically high amount of facebook friends. And I don't expect you to care about me either. We are self-serving, dismal creatures that only live to satiate drives that can not be abated. Forget it all, and lets talk about something that will last.

Humility is not thinking less of yourself. It's thinking of yourself, less.

Bluebirds...