My Life is a S
T
R
I
N
G
dangling for others to toy with
My life is small that a breeze
could send it s
a
i
l
i
n
g in the wind
Yet my life is mine.
And I can make it WHATEVER I want
I am the one in control and can shake it into
t I T o
a W t B
h a I e
W n t
Into something I'm proud to be.
ME
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Never Stop Driving
Yesterday was friggin gorgeous, it was absolutely beautiful. I was driving to my horse lesson which is a good hour away from where I live and I couldn't help but think about what if I just kept driving. The sky was such a deep blue with a few fluffy clouds that looked like cotton balls. The road just kept stretching out twisting and turning with only a few cars passing because of the fact that I was taking back Country roads. The radio was on blasting mindless music to fill up the space and make it more comfortable. The view of the green grass, trees, the occasional house or farm was just beautiful. I never wanted to stop driving.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Making Peace With An Empty Building
I'm not even out of my car in the parking lot and I feel petrified. Everyone else in the car is moving around getting there stuff to get out and all I feel like is turning around and running away. But I force myself out of that car. I cross my arms, square my shoulders an walk out into the parking lot. The closer I get to the building I can feel my skin crawling, as if my flesh is attempting to leave and crawl away far far away from my personal Hell. My boyfriend turns around and asks me if everything is all right and I just nod, because I'm afraid to speak. My voice is stuck in my throat and I'm not sure if it's caught between a scream or a sob. My cousin is jumping up the stairs two by two and making comments about how Heaven is going to send down flames and smite him because he's about to enter a church. I tell him to shut up it's just a building. Just a building, that's what I keep trying to tell myself.
I open the door, I'm the first one to step into the building and I swear for a second my heart just stops beating, but then it continues again. We're alone in the building, well close enough to alone. The Spanish Ministry are downstairs having a meeting with a bit of dinner but I stay out of there way making sure to avoid the room. For a second my eyes meet his and I frown and look away, I expect him to get up and say something to me but he stays at the table with the rest of his ministry and I let out a sigh of relief. We quickly return the tables we have borrowed for my graduation party and I realize this may be the only time I'm in this church basically alone. My memories are always haunting and this might be the only chance I get to make some sort of piece. I tell my cousin and friend that I'll meet them outside at my car in a minute, my boyfriend is a bit smarter then that. I race up the stairs and hope that I lose him and for a second I'm sure I did.
There's a room up the stairs to the right, the room is empty now, there are stained glass windows all around. One of the only rooms with stained glass windows. I go to the one on the fair left and look out the multicolored glass. Outside is a house, I used to imagine myself standing at that porch staring in at those stained glass windows instead of staring out of them because I was stuck in a prison. This was one of the few rooms I was able to breath in, even now breathing comes easier.
The door behind me opens and my boyfriend's talking attempting to fill up the silence, but I want the silence. These walls have been redone, I tell him. He's confused and asks me how I know. But again I don't answer, I can feel tears well up in my eyes as I stare out the small blue circle of glass. I know because I used to be able to sit down and stare out this window while I sobbed, but now to see out of it I have to stand out. But I don't tell him anything. He understands that I want to be left alone and he leaves the room leaving me with my memories. Of all the time my youth group had met in that room, all the times I laughed and had fun. All those times I was alone and wished I was somewhere else. Finally I have gone through all the memories and I leave the room into the main worship area of the church. I take one step into the main area and I swear I can't breath. It's as if the air has snaked around my throat and started to constrict, as if I was attempting to swallow in water. It's just a building I tell myself and the feeling leaves, but I'm left shaken.
Quickly I walk to the other end of the church down a different stairwell. My boyfriend has noticed and is following me again. I tell him I'm going to the bathroom, which I am. And he says he'll wait for me. I enter the bathroom, it's different then I last remember. The walls have been painted, it smells nice, and it has been decorated. But there's still that space underneath the sinks and I get on my hands and knees and crawl underneath it. I sit on the ground with my back against the wall and the sink above me, holding my knees to my chest. Here I can breath, here I feel safe. The one place in the whole building I've always felt safe. Whenever something went wrong this is where I hid, I can't count how many times Ky or Ang have found me holed up underneath there. And here is where I find what I was looking for. I get out from underneath, leave the bathroom, walk up those stairs, and walk out of the church.
I was talking to a friend about the builing afterwords and she told me that I can't make peace with that place until I make peace with myself. And I realized something, I don't want to make peace with that building. I'm not done with that building, I'm still being dragged there and I will for as long as my mother keeps going there. Not only that but while that building holds some of the worst moments of my life, it also holds some of the best memories. It's the cornerstone of my life, it made me who I am today. I can't forget it, if I forget it then I forget who I am and where I've been.
I open the door, I'm the first one to step into the building and I swear for a second my heart just stops beating, but then it continues again. We're alone in the building, well close enough to alone. The Spanish Ministry are downstairs having a meeting with a bit of dinner but I stay out of there way making sure to avoid the room. For a second my eyes meet his and I frown and look away, I expect him to get up and say something to me but he stays at the table with the rest of his ministry and I let out a sigh of relief. We quickly return the tables we have borrowed for my graduation party and I realize this may be the only time I'm in this church basically alone. My memories are always haunting and this might be the only chance I get to make some sort of piece. I tell my cousin and friend that I'll meet them outside at my car in a minute, my boyfriend is a bit smarter then that. I race up the stairs and hope that I lose him and for a second I'm sure I did.
There's a room up the stairs to the right, the room is empty now, there are stained glass windows all around. One of the only rooms with stained glass windows. I go to the one on the fair left and look out the multicolored glass. Outside is a house, I used to imagine myself standing at that porch staring in at those stained glass windows instead of staring out of them because I was stuck in a prison. This was one of the few rooms I was able to breath in, even now breathing comes easier.
The door behind me opens and my boyfriend's talking attempting to fill up the silence, but I want the silence. These walls have been redone, I tell him. He's confused and asks me how I know. But again I don't answer, I can feel tears well up in my eyes as I stare out the small blue circle of glass. I know because I used to be able to sit down and stare out this window while I sobbed, but now to see out of it I have to stand out. But I don't tell him anything. He understands that I want to be left alone and he leaves the room leaving me with my memories. Of all the time my youth group had met in that room, all the times I laughed and had fun. All those times I was alone and wished I was somewhere else. Finally I have gone through all the memories and I leave the room into the main worship area of the church. I take one step into the main area and I swear I can't breath. It's as if the air has snaked around my throat and started to constrict, as if I was attempting to swallow in water. It's just a building I tell myself and the feeling leaves, but I'm left shaken.
Quickly I walk to the other end of the church down a different stairwell. My boyfriend has noticed and is following me again. I tell him I'm going to the bathroom, which I am. And he says he'll wait for me. I enter the bathroom, it's different then I last remember. The walls have been painted, it smells nice, and it has been decorated. But there's still that space underneath the sinks and I get on my hands and knees and crawl underneath it. I sit on the ground with my back against the wall and the sink above me, holding my knees to my chest. Here I can breath, here I feel safe. The one place in the whole building I've always felt safe. Whenever something went wrong this is where I hid, I can't count how many times Ky or Ang have found me holed up underneath there. And here is where I find what I was looking for. I get out from underneath, leave the bathroom, walk up those stairs, and walk out of the church.
I was talking to a friend about the builing afterwords and she told me that I can't make peace with that place until I make peace with myself. And I realized something, I don't want to make peace with that building. I'm not done with that building, I'm still being dragged there and I will for as long as my mother keeps going there. Not only that but while that building holds some of the worst moments of my life, it also holds some of the best memories. It's the cornerstone of my life, it made me who I am today. I can't forget it, if I forget it then I forget who I am and where I've been.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Anywhere but here
There's this picture in my folders on my computer, and its been haunting me all day. It's a picture of gray clouds and a telephone wire. And on those wires are these black birds just sitting there and chilling. There's writing on the top that says "I always wonder why birds choose to stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth." And at the bottom it states "then I ask myself the same question."
I was sitting in my car earlier today in the Arby's parking lot sipping on my Jamocha shake with my mom and my little sister. We were waiting for dad to finish looking at the flowers across the street. My mother and she asked me if I had told Tigger that I want to live in Mankato and St. Peter after school. And I just looked at her and shrugged and continued to watch the rain drops roll down the front windshield. "No." I answered. "Everything's up in the air I don't know what I want to do." I looked back over at her and said. "You know I have this picture and it says something like why do birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere they want, and then I turn to myself and ask the same thing."
I was sitting in my car earlier today in the Arby's parking lot sipping on my Jamocha shake with my mom and my little sister. We were waiting for dad to finish looking at the flowers across the street. My mother and she asked me if I had told Tigger that I want to live in Mankato and St. Peter after school. And I just looked at her and shrugged and continued to watch the rain drops roll down the front windshield. "No." I answered. "Everything's up in the air I don't know what I want to do." I looked back over at her and said. "You know I have this picture and it says something like why do birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere they want, and then I turn to myself and ask the same thing."
Silence settled in the car, and my eight year old sister in all her infinite wisdom answered "Because it's comfy."
My mother and I cracked up and I just shook my head. "Well we know she'll be sticking around." And my mother just nodded in agreement and then the air settled again. "Rachel is not going to be like me. She's fine staying in one place, but I want to travel, I want to see the world. I want to go live in Europe, go to New Orleans, live in a city preferably west coast since I've never been there. Maybe Portland, Seattle, LA, San Francisco, visit New York, go to Asia, Australia, South America, hey maybe I'll end up a Canadian and live in Toranto."
My mother answered, "Well then vacation." As if the answer would be as simple as just to vacation. But it's not.
My mother answered, "Well then vacation." As if the answer would be as simple as just to vacation. But it's not.
I'm nomadic. Sure eventually I'll settle down and be happy but I'm not expecting that till I'm thirty. I noticed something about me. I dislike commitment, even when the commitment is somewhere that I live. I get restless. The idea to leave Gustavus just to experience a different campus and place has crossed my mind, but I'd hate it wherever I went because I love it here. I spent all of elementary school and middle school crossing my fingers that my parents would have this random idea to pack up and leave so I could move somewhere. By the time highschool rolled around I gave up that hope and instead crossed my fingers and hoped to get out of that school in three years, which I did.
Maybe it's all just a dream though, the idea that ever city is different and new and exciting. And sure it is new and exciting the first year but after that it becomes routine. I'm probably just fooling myself. The next town will probably be like the last, but at least I gave it a chance. I've never been out of the US, the closest thing to traveling and vacationing I've been on is to NYC and that's staying in one place because first of all I was twelve, and second we were visiting family or the Jersey shore, which I love with a passion but will no longer see since we moved my great aunt to MN. I'm just restless, and the idea of going back to Monticello just for three months for the summer is making me even more restless. I just want to hop into my car, fill up the gas tank and drive. Drive, and drive, and drive until the gas and money run out just to say I've done that. Just to have the experience of going somewhere instead of staying in the same old place. Here.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Doll House
In the corner of a child's room is a doll house closed shut with a bow on top. A present for a young girl who comes home to find the welcomed gift. The child walks around the house, not noticing much of the details, other than the fact that it's a new toy. Her grubby little fingers find the latch and she opens it up. Three little dolls tumble out, there's a mommy, a daddy, and a baby. The child squeals with delight and claps her hands together. Wrapping her fingers around the dolls she brings them to her mouth to chew on the top of their heads, her drool staining their hand-sown clothes.
The child has grown and now is able to make a family structure. She makes the mom talk to the father as they discuss things like how their days are going and what's for dinner in the bottom left room which is designated as the kitchen. Each empty room is given a purpose. The bottom left has now collected a little fridge, a stove, and a table with two chairs and a baby's seat. The bottom right half has a long couch with little square throw pillows. A lamp hides in the corner and a miniature tv set sits in front of the couch. The window has collected a sticker to show the sun and the green grass outside. The middle half of the house has two rooms on each side. One is the bathroom with a little toilet and bathtub along with a sink. The other is a guest room with a bed that sometimes gets slept on when the barbies decide to visit the family. One room is the for the baby who never seems to age. A crib with a favorite blanket and one of those mobiles that go round and around. A box with toys lines one end of the room and a rug covers the floor to soften it so the baby can crawl on the ground. The lats room is the parents room where they sleep together in a large bed. A desk also occupies the room so the father can work when he needs too. The top of the house is an attic on both sides. Nothing resides in the attic but dust and old memories that are only known to the dolls.
Time has taken its toll on the house. The bright pink has now faded and holds a brown tint from all the dirt and dust it has collected. The sticker is starting to peel off the window and certain furniture has been lost with time. The baby is still in the crib while the mom and dad still sit in the kitchen eternally discussing the weather. But new things have collected in the house. A lost sock hides in the living room corner. A ribbon for academic success rests on the roof. A tennis ball that rolled in one day and never rolled back out. A G.I. Joe that took a rest from his hard battles in the guest bedroom. A dog's chew toy from when the dog had came into the room and was quickly ushered out. A love note from some forgotten admirer. A key hides under the baby's rug from the lock diary that has always stayed locked. Darkness settles over the house as a discarded sweatshirt lands over the house and they stay in darkness for awhile.
The house is jostled as it is moved from its sacred resting space. It's going to live in a new place and the owners of the house are happy for the change of scenery until they realize how dark and musty it is. They had been lonely for awhile, no one had played with them for years and the child was long gone, but they realized it was just as lonely up here as it was down there. Rays of light would sometimes trickle into the house but nothing could brighten up the mood.
The click of a door while footsteps pound up those stairs. A child's giggle, something the house hadn't heard for years. The child stopped in front front of the house and his little fingers fumbled with the latch. The house creaked as it opened revealing eight empty rooms. The dolls had long been lost and all that was left was the empty shell of the house. "Adam, where are you?" More footsteps and a women entered staring at the house with wide eyes. She reached out and gently touched the walls of the house. The house brighten with memories of it was loved and played with by those hands. Times when it's paint wasn't chipped and it was occupied by scores of toys. The house was closed and locked up once again, but this time it was happy. Happy to be moved out of the dark place and back with its loving original owner.
Time has taken its toll on the house. The bright pink has now faded and holds a brown tint from all the dirt and dust it has collected. The sticker is starting to peel off the window and certain furniture has been lost with time. The baby is still in the crib while the mom and dad still sit in the kitchen eternally discussing the weather. But new things have collected in the house. A lost sock hides in the living room corner. A ribbon for academic success rests on the roof. A tennis ball that rolled in one day and never rolled back out. A G.I. Joe that took a rest from his hard battles in the guest bedroom. A dog's chew toy from when the dog had came into the room and was quickly ushered out. A love note from some forgotten admirer. A key hides under the baby's rug from the lock diary that has always stayed locked. Darkness settles over the house as a discarded sweatshirt lands over the house and they stay in darkness for awhile.
The house is jostled as it is moved from its sacred resting space. It's going to live in a new place and the owners of the house are happy for the change of scenery until they realize how dark and musty it is. They had been lonely for awhile, no one had played with them for years and the child was long gone, but they realized it was just as lonely up here as it was down there. Rays of light would sometimes trickle into the house but nothing could brighten up the mood.
The click of a door while footsteps pound up those stairs. A child's giggle, something the house hadn't heard for years. The child stopped in front front of the house and his little fingers fumbled with the latch. The house creaked as it opened revealing eight empty rooms. The dolls had long been lost and all that was left was the empty shell of the house. "Adam, where are you?" More footsteps and a women entered staring at the house with wide eyes. She reached out and gently touched the walls of the house. The house brighten with memories of it was loved and played with by those hands. Times when it's paint wasn't chipped and it was occupied by scores of toys. The house was closed and locked up once again, but this time it was happy. Happy to be moved out of the dark place and back with its loving original owner.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Missing Muse
My Muse has left the building.
It's gone on vacation and left no calling card.
My muse likes to do this to me, come and go as it pleases. I find it extremely annoying. I enjoy writing, it's my pastime, it's even more than that to me. It's my escape, my escape from reality. Not that I need to escape from reality anymore, other than the fact that it starts to become mundane and boring recently. Studying, homework, work, meetings, school. That's a lot less interesting then dramatic life changing problems, angels, demons, swords, and magick. During the summer I immerse myself in my writing only surfacing when my mother calls me because it's dinner or she's tired of me sitting on the computer all day typing away. Not that she'd understand what it's like to lose yourself in a story, character, and plot line where you can be anyone you want to be and do whatever you want. During the school year I don't write as often, though I keep one or two online stories (otherwise known as rps) with some friends of mine.
During Easter break I had found my muse, she had once again came to visit me. I started many rps and a story of my own. I was able to sit on the couch for hours on end and just type away letting words fill the page. But since I've came back I've noticed a decline in my writing and now my muse has left. She's gone on vacation again probably Jamaica this time. I just wish I had some warning, a mental mind note would be nice. "Hey I'm leaving. Coming back whenever I feel like" Though I doubt that'd be very helpful. Mainly I want my muse back because I want to write again to relieve my stress from finals, but maybe it's a good thing it's gone otherwise I'd get distracted.
Well this post was mainly to get the wheels in my head churning. Hopefully I will find my muse again or she'll come back.
It's gone on vacation and left no calling card.
My muse likes to do this to me, come and go as it pleases. I find it extremely annoying. I enjoy writing, it's my pastime, it's even more than that to me. It's my escape, my escape from reality. Not that I need to escape from reality anymore, other than the fact that it starts to become mundane and boring recently. Studying, homework, work, meetings, school. That's a lot less interesting then dramatic life changing problems, angels, demons, swords, and magick. During the summer I immerse myself in my writing only surfacing when my mother calls me because it's dinner or she's tired of me sitting on the computer all day typing away. Not that she'd understand what it's like to lose yourself in a story, character, and plot line where you can be anyone you want to be and do whatever you want. During the school year I don't write as often, though I keep one or two online stories (otherwise known as rps) with some friends of mine.
During Easter break I had found my muse, she had once again came to visit me. I started many rps and a story of my own. I was able to sit on the couch for hours on end and just type away letting words fill the page. But since I've came back I've noticed a decline in my writing and now my muse has left. She's gone on vacation again probably Jamaica this time. I just wish I had some warning, a mental mind note would be nice. "Hey I'm leaving. Coming back whenever I feel like" Though I doubt that'd be very helpful. Mainly I want my muse back because I want to write again to relieve my stress from finals, but maybe it's a good thing it's gone otherwise I'd get distracted.
Well this post was mainly to get the wheels in my head churning. Hopefully I will find my muse again or she'll come back.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Highschool Memories
Today while walking around the campus center I saw the school newspaper, The Weekly, out. Every week I read the newspaper...well more like skim it for things I find interesting and the calender in the back (Which I was disappointed to find that it was not in the paper this week). And in the middle of the paper was this article called Hipster Bingo and I was just laughing as I walked to my beginning acting class. Checking off every box in my mind that I had in common with the bingo sheet, though I am far from classifying myself as a hipster. But as I did this I thought about the difference between Highschool and College. I remember in highschool to "conform" to being unique and an individual you were emo/scene and that's still something raging in highschools today. And then you come to college and it seems to shift from emo/scene to hipster.
And this thought process made my think back on my middle school and highschool years and how I used to dress. In middle school I wore black all the time. Then right before highschool my friends went shopping with me and every time I picked up something black they'd take it from me and place it back on the shelf. So that is how I ended up with color in my wardrobe my freshmen year. During my freshmen year of highschool I wore my black with neon color, picked up skinny jeans, adopted converse, wore two to three belts none of them used to hold up my pants, wore gloves, had my arm covered with bracelets, and wore at least three necklaces every day with my chocker. I mixed up my shirts and would layer them, sometimes pulled out the knee high socks (with skirts/shorts), dyed my hair and teased it every morning, had the scarves and bandannas, and the thick eyeliner that went out in wings. To say the least I was sorta a fashion disaster some days. For a point of reference here is me in either my late sophmore year or junior year.
Though to be perfectly honest I haven't changed much style wise. True in the last two years I've toned it down a lot. I've dropped some things, like the gloves mainly. But when I think about it I still dress like that. True this year I've only had three times when I actually had time to care about my appearance and I didn't just roll out of my bed look at my cell phone and realize I have 10-15 minutes to get to class. But if you still go through my clothes I still mainly only wear skinny jeans (the only reason I have normal jeans is cause my mom made me buy them this summer). I own eight pairs of converse, I have all the black clothes still, some of them still from 9th or 8th grade. I still own all the jewelery that I use to wear and when I have the chance to put Kandi all up my arm I'm extremely happy. I dye my hair constantly and if I had the time I'd tease it up, and I still wear thick eyeliner. So I guess a lot hasn't changed. Probably because I adore the style. The thing is I didn't change the way I dressed to fit in with some sort of group or stereotype (trust me in my school all the other emo/scene/outcasts hated me) I dressed the way I did because I enjoyed it.
And this thought process made my think back on my middle school and highschool years and how I used to dress. In middle school I wore black all the time. Then right before highschool my friends went shopping with me and every time I picked up something black they'd take it from me and place it back on the shelf. So that is how I ended up with color in my wardrobe my freshmen year. During my freshmen year of highschool I wore my black with neon color, picked up skinny jeans, adopted converse, wore two to three belts none of them used to hold up my pants, wore gloves, had my arm covered with bracelets, and wore at least three necklaces every day with my chocker. I mixed up my shirts and would layer them, sometimes pulled out the knee high socks (with skirts/shorts), dyed my hair and teased it every morning, had the scarves and bandannas, and the thick eyeliner that went out in wings. To say the least I was sorta a fashion disaster some days. For a point of reference here is me in either my late sophmore year or junior year.
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| Hilarious isn't it? |
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