Lock and Key

Raise your glasses as I'd like to extend congratulations to Constance-Marie C. James for one full year of abstinence. You go girl!

The first question I was asked was, "Was it hard?" Not particularly. I find it more difficult to disrespect myself, subject my body to possible harm, and intimately share myself with someone who is much less than deserving.

I don't allow my primitive urges to drive my life, and I don't do hook-ups. I've only had intercourse with one person in my life, and that was a decision that I made, not a situation I found myself in. I'd like all my future encounters to happen under the same level consideration.

And they will. I don't understand the 'it just happened' theory. I don't subscribe to the "whatever happens, happens" line of action. I might be the last of a dying breed, but I still think sex is a big deal. I still think that when you have sex with someone, a small part of that person remains with you forever. I still think sex is the highest form of intimacy you could ever experience with someone else. I don't think it's just about physical pleasure, and I don't think making reckless and short-sighted decisions is something that's inherent to being a teenager and should be accepted as so. Unless you plan on dying immediately after your years as a young adult, which I do not, decisions you make now are ones that will live within you for the rest of your life. I'd like to be as proud of my decisions as I possibly can.

And I am.

(I won't pretend that I can take all the credit, though. I did get to a point where I was willing to sleep with someone, but due to extenuating circumstances, did not. I think that was God and the universe telling me that it just wasn't the time. So thank You.)

Here's to another year?

There Goes The Sun

I imagine reflecting on my past as turning around after taking a long walk on the beach. Not to imply that life, particularly mine, is even remotely comparable to a stroll along the shore, but when I envision my past, I see foot steps left in the sand. One in front of the other, usually.

I hate looking back and seeing foot steps smudged along side each other, indicating steps taken backwards. The more I step backwards, the wider and deeper those footsteps become on the impressionable shore of my youthful life. They become the easiest to see, the most profound.

My biggest fear right now is becoming despondent. I'm desperately trying to blow at the embers of passion that still flicker in me, but with each storm my coals smolder less. My fire that once burned brightly, vividly and almost dangerously is slowly smoldering away. And I'm just afraid I don't have the fuel and wood to start them up again.

I hope I'll have the opportunity to look back on these tracks, and find that they are narrow, single file, and solitaire. Barely visible along the sandy shore.

Moderation

My well of sympathy for others is now completely and utterly dry.

To several:

No one cares anymore. No one cares what happened to you, who you lost, who fucked you over, your leg being amputated, your house burning down or your dog being abducted by aliens. All of your complaining, whining, bitching and moaning is in vain because you have demonstrated, time and time again, that you a. take ZERO accountability for anything that EVER happens in your life, and b. have ZERO intentions of making the necessary changes to improve your current situation.

Nothing is ever your fault, everything just happens to you. Give me a break.

And what's worse is instead of listening to the honest and sincere words of your 'friends', you cut them out as soon as their words don't mirror what you want to hear. The perfect way to stay stagnant in maturity and understanding is by surrounding yourself with simpleminded yes-men who condone and encourage your emotional and mental immaturity and foolishness.

I wish you all the best of luck.

Excerpt of Vision

The nature of love, at least in the sense of romance and friendship, is that it is unforeseen, unplanned. Out of some odd irony, or coincidence, one feels tinges of love where they previously did not exist for a person they previously did not care about. Love is normally experienced, felt and enjoyed before it is recognized as, and therefore called, love. In love, the emotions qualify the existence. In love, the happening is a mistake, sometimes a horrible one, sometimes a beautiful one.

The nature of hate, however, is that it is unnatural. Hate, in all of its malicious glory, is an intentional and directed occurrence. While one goes to sleep not expecting to love the next day, one wakes up with hate on their itinerary. Once they've decided to hate, their thoughts, actions and perception of others is molded to match. Once they've decided to hate an individual, their brain allows them to believe, with great confidence, that that individual in turn hates them, thereby justifying their hate. While love is often quietly unreciprocated, hate churns loudly in a violent cycle, even if it has only one participant. While love is usually a by chance happening, hate is a decision, an intention.

The problem with hate for the hated, is that it leads them to believe that they are worthy of hate, worthy of being hated. It makes them question themselves, makes them wonder what they did to deserve this intentional and directed emotion. It wounds their ego, hurts their pride, and knocks them to the floor. Hate hurts more than love satisfies, because love is a mistake, but hate is a bullet shot in execution-style; it is accurate, direct, and without mistakes.

The second problem with hate for the hated is that in its stinging freshness, it confuses and causes one to believe that if they are worthy of being hated, they are capable of hating as well.

And so they do. Or at least try to. Or at the very least except that they cannot, but try to convince all others that they do, that they hate with a fiery passion. Because the only thing more hurtful to one's image and esteem than being hated, is being hated without hating in return.

Unfortunately that's human nature, and not immaturity. Fortunately, neither are for me. Not for too long, at least.

"Was yesterday so important that you can't start fresh today?"

Not to me.

Cherry Coffee Cake

Last night I saw you in my dreams. Now I can't wait to go to sleep.

In a translucent green bag, I keep all the cards my grandfather sends me. Birthday cards, Christmas cards, Valentine's Day cards, and an overwhelming number of cards for no occasion. Just to say hello, offer a few words of encouragement and a prayer, and remind me that I am loved.

Since my grandparents moved to Ohio, I don't get to see them very often, but I can always depend on his cards to comfort me. Early this morning I awoke to deal with a bit of strife, and before I laid back down to sleep, I read one of his cards.

Then I saw him in my dreams. We were sitting in the living room at his old house on Coyle. He had his favorite blue mug with gold lettering in his hand, full of steaming black coffee. I sat on his lap. He told me again the story of my birth, how his mother was gravely ill, but fought to live just long enough to see me born into the world. He told me how proud he was that I was named after his daughter. He told me, as he has many times, that he knew even from my infancy that I was born to show the world greatness, that I was a giant.

Then he got sad. He said he could see that I was being knocked off my square, that I was questioning myself, my motives, and my abilities. That in me I was harboring confusion and feelings that is uncharacteristic of me. He said that I was a giant, but I was playing small.

And he was right.

Purpose is one of the most important words in my life. I have chosen to endure so many things because of purpose. My life is meaningful, it has direction, it will have great impact; it has purpose. But lately I've been knocked off my square. I've allowed the doubt of others to make me question myself, my college and career choices and my future. I've allowed the vileness of others to contaminate the serenity in myself. I've allowed others misery to adulterate my happiness. I've lost sight of my purpose.

At the end of my dream, my grandfather sat his mug down, planted me on the floor and stood before me. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a diamond. It was bright, beautiful and captivating. Then he reached in his other pocket and pulled out mud, and covered the diamond in it.

And I awoke, suddenly feeling the need to take a shower, and give my grandfather a call.

Thanks.

Projectile

All the streetlights glowing, happened to be just like moments passing in front of me.

I'm sitting here trying to hold back my vomit.

Let me know..

You hate me?

I hate you, too.

Moments passing in front of me..

I wish I could explain in this blog how I feel about this bullshit right now. But I can't.

Just vomiting..

Last of Tears

My shattered dreams and broken heart are mending on the shelf..

I remember blogging some time ago in A Long Way Gone about the relationship between myself and my mother and how I thought it was improving.

Exactly a week ago I realized that I was wrong. To make a very long story short, I was called irresponsible, unintelligent and slutty for trying to help a friend. Very unlike myself, I broke down in the car with my friends. To help make me feel a little better, we all went out to eat, then my best friend Brandon spent the night with me, thinking it would ease the blow of the confrontation with my mother in the morning.

It didn't. She exploded. Irrationally. She threatened me with a pair of scissors, in front of Brandon. She told me she could "fucking kill me if she wanted to because I'm her child", in front of Brandon. I tossed a plastic bowl into the sink, she punched me for throwing her dishes.

About a week prior to that she made me quit my job after I refused to give her a hundred dollars gas money to be transported there, three days a week.

I feel kind of foolish for thinking that it would ever be anything different.

I wish there was a way I didn't have to be here.

The relationship between me and my grandmother is unexplainable. I sometimes make her eggs and toast in the morning. I bring her butter pecan ice cream and lemon pound cake when she asks for it. I try to look at her as a different person, as a stranger. I try to swallow my resentment. I smile. But inside I feel as though I'm betraying myself.

I wish there was a way I didn't have to be here.

-------------------------------------------------

But I guess this is the summer of the lasts. After this, it'll be over. After this, I'll be done.

Nothing for me to do, but have one last cry. For the very last time, stop living a lie.

I guess I'm down, I guess I'm down, I guess I'm down, I guess I'm down..

To my last cry.

Testing mobile blogging.

Crossing Over

I was just thinking about you, wondering if you wear that same cologne. Smelled good, on you..

George. Three days ago I drafted an entire blog about the subject, but it doesn't make much sense looking back on it. I think it boils down to him being perfect, and me being much less than that. I still need time to grow, explore and wonder. I feel like I'm about to say the same shit that I said in a blog months ago, so I won't. I just wish he'd sit still for three years or so.

Happy nine months to me! I think I've just about gotten to the point where I am comfortable and confident in extending my celibacy indefinitely. Honestly, my desire for sex has little to do with the actual nature of sex, and more to do with a need for someone to appreciate my body at least as much as I do. But thinking about it, I've never been the girl to act on impulse and short-sighted wants, and I don't intend to become her. Ever. Besides, if I can consider a decision that I actually thought about and decided with sound mind and body a mistake, chances are a hormonal roll in the sack will be one, too. And like Stennett said, second place still wins a medal; it's still special, it's still memorable, it's almost as important. I want it to be with someone who knows in his heart he should've been first, not with the dude walking the track, cool with coming in second, as long as he comes in.

Once again I am in this place where I'm trying to decide what I want to do with my hair. Stay natural or press/relax it. Continue to grow it out, or get a short cut. I think it's a battle between spirituality and fashion. I really want to be true to myself and continue to grow it out naturally in hopes of wearing it that way next year. But on the other hand, I really want the fashion-forward edge of the sharp asymmetrical short cut. I know what I should do, and what's right to do, but.. I'm only 18, and sometimes the right thing is hard to do.

Considering the fact that I pretty much never went to neither GeoSci 103 nor 109, and the fact that my study time was cut in half by the CTools problem, it's pretty unacceptable that I got a B and A+, respectively, in the classes in which the final exam was 100% of my grade. God, I appreciate You for having my back, but.. please.. punish me for fucking up so I'll stop!

My mom's foster mom might come live with us for the remainder of her life. Frankly, I'm uncomfortable with it. For one thing, it would mean that my parents will be completely displaced out of their room into the living room, which is unfair to them. Secondly, and honestly, I feel like it's unfair to me. Her living with us inevitably means me taking care of her, and I don't want to do that. I could deal with the occasional visits, and grocery shopping for her, things of that nature. But having to see her all the time.. It would just be hard for me, really hard for me, and I want my summer to be a good one, I don't want to fall back into that place. It's such a deep hole to climb out of, and my ladder gets just a little shorter each time I have to use it.

Noir

I wish I could believe you, then I'd be alright. But now everything you told me really don't apply to the way I feel inside..

I've been through worse, I've gotten over worse, I've forgiven worse. But somehow I feel as though I have no reference point for this. It would be easy for me to be spiteful, nasty, cruel, and revengeful, probably even satisfying.. But I don't have it in me. It's not what I want to do, it's not who I want to be. All this time I've only wanted an explanation, an understanding, but I never expected an apology. I want to be able to say, "I forgive you" and mean it, and just go on with my life, but..

I'll always remember feeling like I was no good.

I'll always remember feeling used, I'll always remember feeling discarded, and I will always remember thinking, "Maybe you deserved it. Maybe you deserved it. Maybe, you deserved it. You deserved it. Maybe." I'll always remember feeling my heart drop, I'll always remember being lied straight to my face, I'll always remember being backstabbed, and betrayed. But..

I may never understand why. I'm doing the best that I can, and I..

I hope you've changed, for your own sake. I hope I can forgive you, for mine.

One day.

But now, I'm damn too full of resentment.

Resentment by Beyonce

Ever After

I dream of lovers past and I see a girl so sad 'cause she lost the only man she loved; he went away. Well it's not too late for us to change..

When I meet him, I'll forget everyone else.

The man who sweeps away tears and producers smiles with a brush of his fingertips. The man who listens to my eyes, and not my words. He'll lock his fingers at the small of my back when we kiss.

In public he holds my hand. In private he holds my heart.

He listens, he feels, he understands. In his wake I want for nothing.

So I give him everything and forget everyone else.

I'll only whisper my secrets to him. I'll only laugh on his lap. I'll only find comfort in his eyes. I'll only long for his voice, for his smell, for his touch, for his taste..

Selfishness is love's burial ground. Lies and deceit are the gravediggers.

----------------

You already knew the pain, the hurt. So you recreated it.

Times New Roman

I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear, 'cause that's just who I am this week.

When you tell people the truth about themselves or their situations, for their own good, you're too overwhelming. So from now on, I will fill your head with the lies you manufacture, I'll passively condone your self-destructive behavior, and I'll disinterestedly wipe your tears away when he turns about to be the guy I already knew he was before I never laid eyes on him. I will be the most underwhelming person you've ever met. If that's what you want.

In other news, just when you thought you knew somebody.. Shame on you.

If I had to write a list of the people I'd genuinely hate to lose, it'd be so short that I wouldn't have the time. People are just becoming far too selfish for me to even care about them anymore, and it kind of hurts me. Then again, you shouldn't need other people to care when all of your love and care is spent on yourself, should you?

After demi-opening up to a couple of people regarding my recent situations and circumstances, I've been wondering if someone would ask me how things were now. Nothing.

Nothing. Fuck you. (:

For coaxing me to share, only to satisfy your own nosiness, your own need to have someone else put their pain behind the screen, between the lines.

"Experience is priceless. It's just too bad you have to pay for it with your youth."

I'm tired of friends saying they love each other when they don't. I'm tired of friends telling me they love me when they don't. I'm tired of saying I love you when I..

Know the truth.

Almost every time I see or talk to LZ, MV, BK and SJ, "I love you" [or I lubb you, I luhh you, I LOVEEE YOUUUU] is uttered in the conversation. I believe them.

And I only believe a few others.

-------------

I want to see you.

Out the room, on the wall, every step on the staircase.. Baby let me make your day.

Compartmentalization

Love is life, and life is living.

All people lie, and all people tell half-truths, and all people sugarcoat. While most people think there is something inherently bad about lying, there isn't necessarily something inherently bad about the last two. Sometimes it's justified, sometimes it's necessary, sometimes, in fact, it's right. It doesn't make you any more honest, and thus any more right, to be dreadfully negative and rude when the situation clearly calls for half-truths and sugarcoating.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Every ounce of care in me that once lived for you, that suffered through the blows and shots that you took at the heart it lived in, every ounce, has finally died. And has been dead for a while now. I used to say hate is only a degree of love, but now I think sometimes hate is just the scar left behind when care is battered and bruised. As good as love is, hate feels better.

Can I come over?

As I was laying in my bed next to a sleeping man, staring at the 'March 25' on the calendar, I finally realized why I am incapable, despite my somewhat masculine mentality, of allowing a man to relieve my body of the tension that is rippling down my back and hardening in my thighs. Though I sometimes act like, think like, and quite often sympathize with the ideologies of a man, anatomically I am nothing like a man. To me, it's like houses. Most people don't invite just anyone into their home, because it's where you live, it's where all of your valuable possessions are stored, it's a huge part of your life. You need to get so know someone, know that they are trustworthy and honest, before they get invited into your house. Dissimilarly, though, if someone invites you into their home, there isn't as much discretion used. Normally, you go; it isn't as big of a deal. Unfortunately for me, I'm a homeowner. And this is why I haven't had a dinner guest in what could quite possibly soon turn into 8 months.

Say that you want me..

Styrofoam

Today my thirteen year old brother called me and told me that some kid at school was making his life a living hell. Constantly talking about him, writing things about him in the bathrooms and on the playground. He told me he didn't want to fight because he didn't want to get suspended and disappoint us. He told me he was frustrated with the way things are at home. He told me he wanted to kill himself.

I can't remember the last time my heart hurt in that way.

I've fought hard to protect my brothers from the things I had to endure. All those times at my grandmother's house when I'd hide them in the basement, (because of her bad leg, she can't climb up or down stairs), so they wouldn't have to experience with her what I did. Or how I'd make up games to distract them when my parents were arguing, or come up with good excuses for my dad's behavior when he'd came home drunk. I've had my brothers convinced that Santa exists, long past when most kids learn the tragic truth, and I remember cashing in my life savings this past Christmas to give them a reason to still believe.

When we were younger, we put a chair on skates, attached it to a rope that we tied to opposite walls in the basement and pushed each other for hours; we called it the Rocket Chair. When we were hungry, we'd make cinnamon toast, and during the summer we'd play Tekken for hours on end. We used to love taking rides to the gas station in my daddy's big white truck while listening to The Parliament. When my brothers got in trouble, I'd always defend them. When I'd cry at night, they were the only ones to notice, and hug me.

We argue, and sometimes we can't stand being around each other, but at the end of the day, my brothers are my heart. It hurt to know that he felt that level of pain. I felt like I failed him. All the hurt and pain I tried to protect him from, everything I tried to do to make his life as normal as possible, I felt like it meant nothing. Like this little fuck of a child came and ripped away all the smoke and mirrors, and pushed my brother into an emotional pit he was never supposed to know was there.

I could fucking kill him.

Smoking My Cancer

Ways to get on Constance-Marie's good side:

1. Tell your friends about me. [Check.]
2. Go out of your way to see me. [Check.]
3. Smell amazing. [Check.]
   
4. Ask me if I'm hungry, go pick up Buffalo Wild Wings and look at me like I'm dumb when I offer to pay you back. [Check.]
5. Kick it with Evan. [Check, and there are pictures!]
6. Wrestle with me and let me think I bodied you because of my own strength. [Check.]
7. Stroke my back and arms and lock hands with me when I'm laying in your arms. [Check.]
   
8. Be an amazing kisser. [Check.]
   
9. Bite my neck. [Check.]
   
10. Let me fall asleep on your chest. [Check.]

Just a little bit. c:

I'ma need counseling; I lost my mind and I still haven't found it. I used to be so well-rounded, but now I tiptoe on Hell's boundaries.

Natural entitlement to opinion isn't a legitimate reason to ignore the truth. Sure, you may have your own opinion, but it's worthless to me if your opinion is in lieu of, and not coupled with, the truth. I'm starting to find a lot of people in my life have this my-opinion-reigns-over-fact complex, and the [admittedly little] respect I once had for them is diminishing quickly.

I'm trapped in a maze, and therefore I am amazing.

During the week someone told me I must be 'crazy' to deal with certain things I'm forced to deal with and still have the attitude I've recently decided to have. And I replied, "Insanity is the answer when reality is in question." So I'm crazy. (: Actually, though, I think you have to lose it just a little bit in order to be able to see things for their true worth. It's like when you write a piece, step away for a while, and then notice a million new things about it when you come back. Try taking a break from reality, slipping away into your own mind for a while. When you emerge, everything will be different. Even if nothing has changed.

Walking around looking for a way, but no one tells me which way to go. I'm caught up in a world, a labyrinth, a maze, where yes men can easily be no. ..I think I'm losing it, I might be losing it. I just might lose; am I losing my mind?

Lost by Gorilla Zoe feat. Lil Wayne

Cinderella Liberty

I used to wake up some days, and wish I'd stayed asleep, 'cause I went to bed on top of the world, but today the world's on top of me.

In the words of Bern Nadette Stanis playing Thelma Evans-Anderson, "The world goes on, whether you're sitting on top of it, or stretched out underneath it."

A month ago I was filling out the forms to withdraw from this semester. Today I get my requested progress reports back, and so far I have all A's. I also just picked up two, yes two, half-semester courses that I know I'm going to ace. Six Michigan classes. Six possible Michigan A's. I'm a prodigy.

I'm more than a conqueror.

I feel as though I'm falling in love with myself, and with life. That feeling when you're first falling in love, when you're so excited to see that person's face, when you feel so happy when they're around, that's how I feel about myself and my life. Every morning is a good morning, every night is a good night. I'm in love. I've loved before, and I've lost. But I cannot afford to lose this time. So I won't.

This new guy intrigues me just a bit. He's definitely the type of guy who's used to having the upper-hand, who's used to girls riding him, but I'm not that type of girl. He's vowed to not call me for three days because he's upset that I never call him, or text him first. Oops? I just like for guys to prove to me that they're genuinely interested before I show any interest. He's supposed to be coming up on Friday, we'll see just how interested interested is. (:

Feminist Frontiers

Today made me realize how much I've missed being able to just sit outside. It feels so good.

I am a good girl. And, with seven months of celibacy just around the corner, sometimes it gets hard. But, I've realized that no matter how frustrated I am sexually, I'm not the type of girl to set aside my self-respect, discipline and morals for one night. It may be nice to lay down, but in the morning, I have to get up, I have to look myself in the mirror, and I have to deal with the choices I made. It's not worth having my reputation tarnished, it's not worth me losing respect for myself. And not just anyone is worthy of all this good-graciousness anyway! (:

Females are starting to irritate me terribly. The first kind is the "I don't know why I keep attracting no-good panty-popping men" type. Yet, these are usually the same women with a million pictures on FB or Myspace, many of which are 'questionable' in taste. These are the same women with weird statuses about wanting a 'fine' man or a 'balla' to holla' at them. These are the same girls with their foreheads on the floor and their asses in the air at some party. And these are the same women who gives the time of day to anything with at least one ball and a shaft. What you attract is a direct reflection of how you present yourself. If you're constantly attracting men who only want to beat the cheeks and then roll out, chances are.. you're presenting yourself as a beat-the-cheeks type of girl. - Shrug. - Just a thought.

The second kind is the "I want a boyfriend now" type. It's weird to me when people go out looking for relationships. If you just so happen to meet and get to know someone and decide you want to be with them, good for you. But blood-sucking leeching girls who target people for relationships are odd. And pathetic. If a man wants to be with you, he will be. Until then, learn to be happy with yourself.

And finally, the third kind is the "Gold-digging picky eater" type. The girls who only want a guy with major stacks in the bank, and who looks a certain way, and has a certain body. Which would, I guess, be fine if the majority of these girls weren't broke and busted themselves. You can't require something out of someone if you aren't able to meet the same criteria. You want a guy with money, but you can't afford to go to McDonalds whenever you want. You want a guy who's 'cut up', but you have three stomachs, and horrible weave. You want a guy who's 'geared', but you shop at Rainbow. You're fried.

I'm so excited to go spring shopping, and get a pedicure! I love this weather.