"Love is patient, love is kind."
I realize I havn't said much in terms of happy thoughts. How bizarre, being that I'm usually always happy.
There is so much in life to be thankful for. Currently: My friends, my brother, delicious chocolate covered peanuts, snuggly socks, tye dye, music and feelings and thoughts, the gift of laughter and joy, the wind, surviving finals, discovering that life is so much bigger than grades, so much greater than what I can see, and so valuable in the eyes of my creator.
God is good. God is always good. Even when I screw everything up, God is good.
"Love never fails."
God is love.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Under the Tree
Here I sit, unassumingly in the grass, my legs sprawled out on both sides. Much goes on around me, but I do not see it, many people talk, but I do not hear them, a Frisbee whizzes by, but I pay no attention. I only think and feel today. I am in my own little word.
I feel the sun. Her wonderful warmth penetrates through my dark jeans. I close my eyes, and silently say thank you. As fall has begun, and winter is rearing around the corner, her rays feel distant, but all the more lovely.
However, much more pressing, is the wind. The shadows of the ground dance with the movement of the leaves, and I know he is here. I sense him. And so he approaches. He advances softly from my left, where we reunite, just as we always have. As old friends, well acquainted, he says nothing, and I acknowledge its okay. I close my eyes once again and this time they remain that way. He draws nearer. I make myself more comfortable, unrolling my spine, dropping back my head, awaiting. He outlines my shape. He knows my arms, running softly against the insides. He finds my “angel kiss.” The fluid movements pass again and again. It tickles, but I do not laugh. He knows my neck, quietly whispering around and around it. And so I let him. It is just me and him now, in my own little world. He knows my hair most of all. We always fight this battle, the battle with my hair, yet this time I choose to let him win. I keep my hands lightly pressed to the soft earth, and decide to let him have his fun. And so I close my eyes, and he plays his favorite game. He says, Don’t worry Christina, as he sways my curls from side to side along my back. He tells me, It’s okay, and jumbles my bangs messily in my eyes and face, you think too much. And so, I relax into his movements, I breathe in his soft scent, and I let him embrace the rhythm of my heartbeats that nobody else knows. My rhythm says, help me I’m broken, his answer, relax. My mind thinks, what do I do, what should I do, what did I do, his answer, relax. My fingers ask, will you hold me, and he quickens his pace, as if I’ve asked too much too quickly. But then he lightens his touch, settling back comfortably at my side, at my back, crossing paths with the bugs earning their frequent flier miles, and flowing gently, tenderly, along my cheek. I stop and let him take control again. I slow my breathing, take back the moment, and let myself fall into his motions. He brushes the hair out of my eyes suddenly, and it is then I feel it. I know I am okay.
I feel the sun. Her wonderful warmth penetrates through my dark jeans. I close my eyes, and silently say thank you. As fall has begun, and winter is rearing around the corner, her rays feel distant, but all the more lovely.
However, much more pressing, is the wind. The shadows of the ground dance with the movement of the leaves, and I know he is here. I sense him. And so he approaches. He advances softly from my left, where we reunite, just as we always have. As old friends, well acquainted, he says nothing, and I acknowledge its okay. I close my eyes once again and this time they remain that way. He draws nearer. I make myself more comfortable, unrolling my spine, dropping back my head, awaiting. He outlines my shape. He knows my arms, running softly against the insides. He finds my “angel kiss.” The fluid movements pass again and again. It tickles, but I do not laugh. He knows my neck, quietly whispering around and around it. And so I let him. It is just me and him now, in my own little world. He knows my hair most of all. We always fight this battle, the battle with my hair, yet this time I choose to let him win. I keep my hands lightly pressed to the soft earth, and decide to let him have his fun. And so I close my eyes, and he plays his favorite game. He says, Don’t worry Christina, as he sways my curls from side to side along my back. He tells me, It’s okay, and jumbles my bangs messily in my eyes and face, you think too much. And so, I relax into his movements, I breathe in his soft scent, and I let him embrace the rhythm of my heartbeats that nobody else knows. My rhythm says, help me I’m broken, his answer, relax. My mind thinks, what do I do, what should I do, what did I do, his answer, relax. My fingers ask, will you hold me, and he quickens his pace, as if I’ve asked too much too quickly. But then he lightens his touch, settling back comfortably at my side, at my back, crossing paths with the bugs earning their frequent flier miles, and flowing gently, tenderly, along my cheek. I stop and let him take control again. I slow my breathing, take back the moment, and let myself fall into his motions. He brushes the hair out of my eyes suddenly, and it is then I feel it. I know I am okay.
Friday, September 18, 2009
What Will Come of it All
So I remember how excited I was for college to start. And college is pretty amazing. Good thing I'm secretly dying.
Not a day goes by that I'm not running late somewhere. Or that I'm forgetting something. Or that I'm starving and full all at the same time (I still can't figure out why that is!). Or that I'm basically starting over at zero. I'm the biggest bundle of walking nerves.
Am I supposed to feel like I fail at life? Because,
1) I feel like my Biology book is waaaaaay over my head.
2) Half of the time I say stupid things and people look at me like wtf? And then I remember, oh yeah, these people don't know my jokes yet...oops.
3) Orchestra is...really hard. Really, really hard.
4) When I play my viola I'm pretty sure I've already done enough damage to my wrists that I'll be enjoying extreme cases of carpal tunnel in my adult years, as well as the fact that at my private lesson I discovered I've been holding my instrument wrong for...8 years. Cool!
5) Writing, which I so dearly loved in highschool, is not at all the way it was in highschool. Its more work and less fun, and much more critical. And now I've found out my whole life that what I thought was good writing is, "Too stylistic." Well shoot me down and call me Joe, sorry I have a personality I'll try to contain it from now on.
6) I'm a cool person until people ask me what dorm I'm in, and I tell them I live at home, and then they say, "Oh man that sucks," and I usually don't see them after that.
7) Something went wrong in my internal clock and I slept through my alarm and was late to work for the first time, by two hours. And felt like an idiot. And then got written up like some kind of criminal!
8) Two mating flies landed on me when I was doing my homework underneath a tree. And I sat there for a second thinking two things: dang, I wish I were those flies, and what has come of my life, serious wtf get off!
If only happiness was easy to achieve. I will forever and always envy the hippies. There's a kind of love I want. Where will I find it? If ever? What do I deserve?
What good will come of all this madness. As long as I don't go mad, I believe I may be happy.
Not a day goes by that I'm not running late somewhere. Or that I'm forgetting something. Or that I'm starving and full all at the same time (I still can't figure out why that is!). Or that I'm basically starting over at zero. I'm the biggest bundle of walking nerves.
Am I supposed to feel like I fail at life? Because,
1) I feel like my Biology book is waaaaaay over my head.
2) Half of the time I say stupid things and people look at me like wtf? And then I remember, oh yeah, these people don't know my jokes yet...oops.
3) Orchestra is...really hard. Really, really hard.
4) When I play my viola I'm pretty sure I've already done enough damage to my wrists that I'll be enjoying extreme cases of carpal tunnel in my adult years, as well as the fact that at my private lesson I discovered I've been holding my instrument wrong for...8 years. Cool!
5) Writing, which I so dearly loved in highschool, is not at all the way it was in highschool. Its more work and less fun, and much more critical. And now I've found out my whole life that what I thought was good writing is, "Too stylistic." Well shoot me down and call me Joe, sorry I have a personality I'll try to contain it from now on.
6) I'm a cool person until people ask me what dorm I'm in, and I tell them I live at home, and then they say, "Oh man that sucks," and I usually don't see them after that.
7) Something went wrong in my internal clock and I slept through my alarm and was late to work for the first time, by two hours. And felt like an idiot. And then got written up like some kind of criminal!
8) Two mating flies landed on me when I was doing my homework underneath a tree. And I sat there for a second thinking two things: dang, I wish I were those flies, and what has come of my life, serious wtf get off!
If only happiness was easy to achieve. I will forever and always envy the hippies. There's a kind of love I want. Where will I find it? If ever? What do I deserve?
What good will come of all this madness. As long as I don't go mad, I believe I may be happy.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
A Long Story About the Tweety Bird Bowl
Here I sit. Legs curled up and comfortably at the counter. I am indulging myself with the sweet delicacies of chocolate chip mint ice cream, in my pajamas that do not match, and probably never will.
Wow, isn't that considered pathetic? And yet, somehow, I am drawn to the bowl in which the melting goodness chills (literally).
Everytime I eat ice cream, I always use this same bowl: darn that Tweety face in the middle is so stinkin cute! Yet, it is just a bowl.
And this bowl I now routinely use, was once begged for by a young thirteen-year-old version of myself. Because I obviously had to have it. Come one, it's Tweety!
And so, my question is this: Do we own our possessions? Or do we sell our soul to them.
I have begun to hate any and all "things".
Let me explain myself.
I love shopping, as any girl does. I love spending other people's money. I love my new jeans. Who doesn't?
But, notice how I used the word "love" to describe things that cannot love me back.
RULE No. 1 IN CHRISTINA's BEST SELLING BOOK TITLED, "How Not to Sell Away Your Soul,"
Love is for 2 people, for people and nature, and for that warm fuzzy feeling you get on a great day; not for food, clothing, hair/makeup/television/cellphones/Oprah/Harry Potter, or any other object that cannot respond to you.
An example for the audience:
I witnessed a car accident about a week ago. The owner of the car couldn't give a rip about said vehicle. The "Dent Master," who backed into the car, practically thought the world was coming to an end. And it ruined the DentMaster's day. Completely.
That car was mine. And I still couldn't care less if there were 50 dents and if it were spray painted with graffitti that said "loser" cuz it would just give me more the reason to change the "s" to a "v" and my car would be a hippie van and all would be well. As long as it took me where I needed to go, I would be happy. But you know what, everyone else seemed to care a whole lot more than I did. They don't even have to drive the piece of crap!
As I recall, the incident affected fathers and mothers, with stressed talk of insurance and claiming it and blahblahblahhhhh. And I just sat there like, "Seriously, I don't care. It still drives." And the stupid car is still an issue.
I'm sorry, don't people matter more than cars? Doesn't "hello" and "goodbye" and "hey I hope you have a great day!" take place before "oh let me make some calls," "oh let me go sit and think about this alone," "oh I'm going to freak out about something thats already ugly"?
How about I light the dang car on fire, now what. Exactly, everyone would freak out even more. And why is that? Why is it such a big deal?
I remember being a little kid and accidentally breaking things and being so scared to tell anyone because I knew I'd get in big trouble. And honestly, nothing has really changed. If I still break something it's basically an even bigger deal than when I was little because now I should know better. I'm sorry, is there a rule that says older people can't be clumsy too?
Possessions stick their shiny little fancy noses up in the air and take presidence over everything else. They take away time that really could be better spent. They stress us out. They make us cry. They make us greedy. They make us steal. They make parents lie to their children about Santa. If that doesn't convince you than nothing will and you have no soul.
You know what, I just spent 200 of my own dollars on books for college today. I worked a long hard 200 dollars worth for those books. You think I'm gonna protect those books? Darn straight. But you know what, they're just books. They are paper and words that will most likely just be updated again next year. Do they really matter?
No.
But do possessions usually win?
Sadly, yes.
So what really matters?
People, relationships, other's well-being, happiness, faith, enjoyment, children, simplicity, music, warmth, positivity. And sweet, sweet Baskin Robbins ice cream.
So tell everyone you love that you love them. Because life's too short to argue with your mom at Walmart over a plastic bowl with cartoon characters, when people mean so much more than anything else ever could. Or else you might find yourself alone, in the night, just you and the bowl. Foreeeeeeever. Soul? Sold.
Don't let your Tweety bird bowl win today, or ever.
Wow, isn't that considered pathetic? And yet, somehow, I am drawn to the bowl in which the melting goodness chills (literally).
Everytime I eat ice cream, I always use this same bowl: darn that Tweety face in the middle is so stinkin cute! Yet, it is just a bowl.
And this bowl I now routinely use, was once begged for by a young thirteen-year-old version of myself. Because I obviously had to have it. Come one, it's Tweety!
And so, my question is this: Do we own our possessions? Or do we sell our soul to them.
I have begun to hate any and all "things".
Let me explain myself.
I love shopping, as any girl does. I love spending other people's money. I love my new jeans. Who doesn't?
But, notice how I used the word "love" to describe things that cannot love me back.
RULE No. 1 IN CHRISTINA's BEST SELLING BOOK TITLED, "How Not to Sell Away Your Soul,"
Love is for 2 people, for people and nature, and for that warm fuzzy feeling you get on a great day; not for food, clothing, hair/makeup/television/cellphones/Oprah/Harry Potter, or any other object that cannot respond to you.
An example for the audience:
I witnessed a car accident about a week ago. The owner of the car couldn't give a rip about said vehicle. The "Dent Master," who backed into the car, practically thought the world was coming to an end. And it ruined the DentMaster's day. Completely.
That car was mine. And I still couldn't care less if there were 50 dents and if it were spray painted with graffitti that said "loser" cuz it would just give me more the reason to change the "s" to a "v" and my car would be a hippie van and all would be well. As long as it took me where I needed to go, I would be happy. But you know what, everyone else seemed to care a whole lot more than I did. They don't even have to drive the piece of crap!
As I recall, the incident affected fathers and mothers, with stressed talk of insurance and claiming it and blahblahblahhhhh. And I just sat there like, "Seriously, I don't care. It still drives." And the stupid car is still an issue.
I'm sorry, don't people matter more than cars? Doesn't "hello" and "goodbye" and "hey I hope you have a great day!" take place before "oh let me make some calls," "oh let me go sit and think about this alone," "oh I'm going to freak out about something thats already ugly"?
How about I light the dang car on fire, now what. Exactly, everyone would freak out even more. And why is that? Why is it such a big deal?
I remember being a little kid and accidentally breaking things and being so scared to tell anyone because I knew I'd get in big trouble. And honestly, nothing has really changed. If I still break something it's basically an even bigger deal than when I was little because now I should know better. I'm sorry, is there a rule that says older people can't be clumsy too?
Possessions stick their shiny little fancy noses up in the air and take presidence over everything else. They take away time that really could be better spent. They stress us out. They make us cry. They make us greedy. They make us steal. They make parents lie to their children about Santa. If that doesn't convince you than nothing will and you have no soul.
You know what, I just spent 200 of my own dollars on books for college today. I worked a long hard 200 dollars worth for those books. You think I'm gonna protect those books? Darn straight. But you know what, they're just books. They are paper and words that will most likely just be updated again next year. Do they really matter?
No.
But do possessions usually win?
Sadly, yes.
So what really matters?
People, relationships, other's well-being, happiness, faith, enjoyment, children, simplicity, music, warmth, positivity. And sweet, sweet Baskin Robbins ice cream.
So tell everyone you love that you love them. Because life's too short to argue with your mom at Walmart over a plastic bowl with cartoon characters, when people mean so much more than anything else ever could. Or else you might find yourself alone, in the night, just you and the bowl. Foreeeeeeever. Soul? Sold.
Don't let your Tweety bird bowl win today, or ever.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Strawberry Fields Forever
"Strawberry Fields Forever": wouldn't that be wonderful? Okay, so the actual song is really random and must've been written at 2 in the morning with some type of chemical imbalance in the brain, but the main idea makes sense.
Society pisses everyone off. (Or maybe it's just me??)
If I could do anything with my entire life, anything at all, and it didn't matter if there was money or success or houses or fame or debt or careers or looking like Megan Fox or being tan or anthing else that seems frivolous in the scheme of things, I'd follow my heart's one desire. My heart seems it would only be happy doing one thing, okay a few things that really only seem categorized as one, being free.
I would live on the beach. I would bask in the sun when I was lucky enough to have some, and I would inhale the sweet scent of the rain, as frequent and as often as it came, treating each day as an unknown gift. I would let the wind swirl my hair so I couldn't see a blasted thing, and I wouldn't care because there wouldn't be anything I needed to see. I wouldn't go to college, I wouldn't take umpteen credits and pay thousands of dollars. I wouldn't need a mini fridge, a roommate, 80 composition notebooks, a parking spot, a stupid sweatshirt with my stupid College's letters on it or anything else. The ocean would be my fridge, my friends would be my friends, all my compositions would be in my head, I could park myself wherever I pleased, I wouldn't need to broadcast my status, and would just rejoice in what the world had to offer. I also wouldn't need high fructose corn syrup because everyone knows hippies starve or eat seaweed, and I wouldn't be afraid of going to the dentist because I wouldn't go and no one could make me.
I would embrace the wonderful, wide, open expanse of all things on this earth. The ocean would mistify me on how large and deep and incredible it has been and continues to be. The mountains would peek their little peaks up in the distance and say hello, and I would wonder how huge and mighty they were. I would sink into the sandy earth, scratching it back as it scratched me. I would crunch into the fresh green of the trees and the bushes and the grass, and would make funny duck calls, laughing just like I always have. And then I would be awestruck by how wonderful all this world was, and how mighty a God I had who created it all. And I would be thankful. Much more thankful than I am right now.
I would create. Music would be what passed the time, and I would sing and hum and strum and listen. It wouldn't matter if I was the best of if I was the worst, because there would be no first chair, no competition, and no Mariah Carey (not that I don't appreciate her extreme range). It would be what it was, and I would close my eyes and feel the meaning, absorb the bass notes, and pay special attention to the harmony, while still giving the melody credit, and not the superficial lyrics of drugs/sex/alcohol/gettin some booty. And the music would wrap its little notes around and around until they slowly faded into the night sky.
And then my favorite time would come. Then I would lay down, and it wouldn't matter if my bed was a pillowtop or a plush or a tempur pedic material thats used by NASA, because I would have the whole earth as my pillow, and the stars as my night lights. I would spend countless hours wondering about them, and watching them as they twinkle and flash to my own private showing. I wouldn't make stupid wishes on the shooting ones because that's all a bunch of baloney, and there would be nothing I needed to wish for, because I would accept the world the way it was, and have all I needed to make me happy.
Because college does not equal happiness. Graduating from college does not equal happiness because then you have to find a "career" that you have to maintain for the remainder of your existence, to pay off the debt you accumulated while in college. Neither does money, or anything it can buy. Beauty is temporary, and really only in the eye of the beholder anyhow. Death wouldn't be scary, because there wouldn't be so much legally riding on whether someone lives or dies. I would spend my waking hours with those I cared about and loved, and when it came time for them to pass they would pass, and I would have peace that they were in a better place, where I would hopefully join them when it was my time. I would spend my time sharing the word of God. I would meet new people to talk to and make music with, and would not waste one second at a mall, but would embark on deep conversation. And my soul would be happy. (And so would Mrs. Hallberg because my analyzing skills would surpass that of any other human on earth! However I wouldn't be able to unpack anything, as everyone knows hippies don't have possessions.)
Paris Hilton can have her perfume back. Buckle can have their jeans back. As much as I enjoy my straight teeth Dr. Sutherland can have his braces back. Ford can have my car, Macys can have back their sale items (and their name! the Bonmarche was way better). McDonalds can have back their five thousand hot fudge sundaes with nuts I've eaten, Blockbuster can take back all their movies I've rented, and Disney can return the Little Mermaid to the sea, Simba to Pride Rock, Tarzan to the jungle, and Zac Efron to wherever he was before he became a Wildcat. Because looking back, none of this has made me happy. Multiplying this list by "100,000!" still wouldn't make me happy.
Love makes me happy. Friends make me happy. Music and nature and peacefulness make me happy. Good conversation makes me happy, whether we agree, disagree, or just end up laughing.
And yes, strawberries would make me very, very happy.
Simplicity is a long lost treasure in today's world.
Society pisses everyone off. (Or maybe it's just me??)
If I could do anything with my entire life, anything at all, and it didn't matter if there was money or success or houses or fame or debt or careers or looking like Megan Fox or being tan or anthing else that seems frivolous in the scheme of things, I'd follow my heart's one desire. My heart seems it would only be happy doing one thing, okay a few things that really only seem categorized as one, being free.
I would live on the beach. I would bask in the sun when I was lucky enough to have some, and I would inhale the sweet scent of the rain, as frequent and as often as it came, treating each day as an unknown gift. I would let the wind swirl my hair so I couldn't see a blasted thing, and I wouldn't care because there wouldn't be anything I needed to see. I wouldn't go to college, I wouldn't take umpteen credits and pay thousands of dollars. I wouldn't need a mini fridge, a roommate, 80 composition notebooks, a parking spot, a stupid sweatshirt with my stupid College's letters on it or anything else. The ocean would be my fridge, my friends would be my friends, all my compositions would be in my head, I could park myself wherever I pleased, I wouldn't need to broadcast my status, and would just rejoice in what the world had to offer. I also wouldn't need high fructose corn syrup because everyone knows hippies starve or eat seaweed, and I wouldn't be afraid of going to the dentist because I wouldn't go and no one could make me.
I would embrace the wonderful, wide, open expanse of all things on this earth. The ocean would mistify me on how large and deep and incredible it has been and continues to be. The mountains would peek their little peaks up in the distance and say hello, and I would wonder how huge and mighty they were. I would sink into the sandy earth, scratching it back as it scratched me. I would crunch into the fresh green of the trees and the bushes and the grass, and would make funny duck calls, laughing just like I always have. And then I would be awestruck by how wonderful all this world was, and how mighty a God I had who created it all. And I would be thankful. Much more thankful than I am right now.
I would create. Music would be what passed the time, and I would sing and hum and strum and listen. It wouldn't matter if I was the best of if I was the worst, because there would be no first chair, no competition, and no Mariah Carey (not that I don't appreciate her extreme range). It would be what it was, and I would close my eyes and feel the meaning, absorb the bass notes, and pay special attention to the harmony, while still giving the melody credit, and not the superficial lyrics of drugs/sex/alcohol/gettin some booty. And the music would wrap its little notes around and around until they slowly faded into the night sky.
And then my favorite time would come. Then I would lay down, and it wouldn't matter if my bed was a pillowtop or a plush or a tempur pedic material thats used by NASA, because I would have the whole earth as my pillow, and the stars as my night lights. I would spend countless hours wondering about them, and watching them as they twinkle and flash to my own private showing. I wouldn't make stupid wishes on the shooting ones because that's all a bunch of baloney, and there would be nothing I needed to wish for, because I would accept the world the way it was, and have all I needed to make me happy.
Because college does not equal happiness. Graduating from college does not equal happiness because then you have to find a "career" that you have to maintain for the remainder of your existence, to pay off the debt you accumulated while in college. Neither does money, or anything it can buy. Beauty is temporary, and really only in the eye of the beholder anyhow. Death wouldn't be scary, because there wouldn't be so much legally riding on whether someone lives or dies. I would spend my waking hours with those I cared about and loved, and when it came time for them to pass they would pass, and I would have peace that they were in a better place, where I would hopefully join them when it was my time. I would spend my time sharing the word of God. I would meet new people to talk to and make music with, and would not waste one second at a mall, but would embark on deep conversation. And my soul would be happy. (And so would Mrs. Hallberg because my analyzing skills would surpass that of any other human on earth! However I wouldn't be able to unpack anything, as everyone knows hippies don't have possessions.)
Paris Hilton can have her perfume back. Buckle can have their jeans back. As much as I enjoy my straight teeth Dr. Sutherland can have his braces back. Ford can have my car, Macys can have back their sale items (and their name! the Bonmarche was way better). McDonalds can have back their five thousand hot fudge sundaes with nuts I've eaten, Blockbuster can take back all their movies I've rented, and Disney can return the Little Mermaid to the sea, Simba to Pride Rock, Tarzan to the jungle, and Zac Efron to wherever he was before he became a Wildcat. Because looking back, none of this has made me happy. Multiplying this list by "100,000!" still wouldn't make me happy.
Love makes me happy. Friends make me happy. Music and nature and peacefulness make me happy. Good conversation makes me happy, whether we agree, disagree, or just end up laughing.
And yes, strawberries would make me very, very happy.
Simplicity is a long lost treasure in today's world.
Monday, May 11, 2009
in ONE month and TWO days...
Boom! It will be graduation. Why am I always asking myself if it's here yet? Will I someday regret this hastiness? Hopefully not. I'm ready. I believe there are always seasons in life, no matter how old you get. I think its time for a new one.
On another note...
I have realized many things recently.
1) Thank God for emotion, without it, good music would never exist
2) I am completely freaked out of my mind for my first day of school at college (maybe this has to do with the fact that a lady the other day thought I was "graduating" from the 8th grade. cooooooooooooooooooooool.)
3) I'm even more freaked out of my mind about actually getting a job...ew. maybe i'll find one I like?
4) Summer's not nearly as cool as it's cracked up to be, everyone always says this summer will be the best...i'm determined to make this summer the best
5) People need to become much more independent with their own lives...clingy people make me ansy
On another note...
I have realized many things recently.
1) Thank God for emotion, without it, good music would never exist
2) I am completely freaked out of my mind for my first day of school at college (maybe this has to do with the fact that a lady the other day thought I was "graduating" from the 8th grade. cooooooooooooooooooooool.)
3) I'm even more freaked out of my mind about actually getting a job...ew. maybe i'll find one I like?
4) Summer's not nearly as cool as it's cracked up to be, everyone always says this summer will be the best...i'm determined to make this summer the best
5) People need to become much more independent with their own lives...clingy people make me ansy
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
And the journey begins...
Today. The first day of the rest of my life. The ending of what I was, tying off the strings, letting go. Becoming who I will be. Throughout graduation, a working summer, and college. And whatever may follow. As I become.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)