Now the time has come to leave you

I woke up from a shallow night’s sleep to the doorbell ringing. I ran downstairs half-dressed to open the already-unlocked door, the reason as to why it was already unlocked is unknown but I knew it had something to do with my dad and brother never paying attention to the finer details of our house, and was promptly laughed at by the delivery man who asked me for an autograph and commented on my bed hair and disheveled outfit. I muttered something along the lines of “Have a nice day,” and heaved the heavy box onto the kitchen table. This is the second of three packages my mom is expecting, but isn’t here to receive.

I took my mom to the airport yesterday morning while mixed emotions swarmed inside my brain and stomach. I have always known that she doesn’t belong here, that France is her real home, so I wanted to tell her that I was excited for her since she’s waited so long for this opportunity to go back and work toward finishing her Master’s degree, but I couldn’t shake this other feeling of discomfort due to the thought of her being gone for so long. I wanted to tell her to have fun and that I would see her on X date, but I couldn’t do that since that date doesn’t exist. Her ticket only includes a departure.

So kiss me and smile for me. Tell me that you’ll wait for me. Hold me like you’ll never let me go, cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane. Don’t know when I’ll be back again.

Since I couldn’t tell her that I would see her when she gets back, whenever that is, I just clung to her like my life depended on it (and honestly at the time it felt like it did) and told her that I was excited for her. I really was. I still am. But now I don’t know what to do as I wander around the house looking at these boxes and sifting through paperwork and noticing the slightly unorganized living room and kitchen that I will have to be completely responsible for now that I am the only woman of the house. I’m surprised I haven’t quarantined this place yet.

In the process of doing the dishes my dad and brother left in the sink for me to deal with, I looked down to see my mom’s giant coffee mug sitting there, stained from yesterday morning. I did all the other dishes but couldn’t bring myself to wash away one of the last traces of her. Everything else has been addressed; her closet, office, and bathroom are all cleaned out. It feels silly how much of an impact a little line of coffee on the inside of a generic mug can make. I don’t like it.

Already I’m so lonesome I could die.

(John Denver, Leaving on a Jet Plane)

I know a place where we can go still untouched by man

Remember when the days were long and rolled beneath a deep blue sky. Didn’t have a care in the world with mommy and daddy standing by, when “happily ever after” fails and we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales.

My mom has moved into my room and I don’t know how to deal with it.

I’ve always been proud of the independence that I possess despite growing up as a member of my generation. Yesterday morning I moved myself out of my dorm room without telling my parents because I wanted to do it myself, gigantic mini fridge included. After many trips back and forth from my room to my car in the rain that had decided to finally fall after three dry days of Music Fest, I was feeling very proud of myself as I made my way home.

I pulled in the driveway and walked through the back door into my dad who asked me why I was home and if it meant that he needed to bring the truck to Rhodes to help me move out. I told him I had already done it, but that he could help me bring things upstairs to my room if he wanted. From there I spent the next few hours cleaning, unpacking, shifting, and laying on my floor burning incense and listening to hair bands while in a state of denial that summer break had started.

Somewhere in the midst of this I noticed that my mom’s alarm clock was on my nightstand and that her pillows had replaced some of mine. I didn’t think much of it since she had spent nights in my room before and it hadn’t been an issue. Now it’s the next day and for the first time since I was home over my break between fall and spring semester, I was completely alone, which I was starting to get used to again with the musical company of Don Henley until Mom comes walking into my room announcing that she needs to lay down. She didn’t say hi, or anything else for that matter. She just got into bed as I took it upon myself to turn off my music and try to get used to the suddenly different atmosphere in my room.

I’m now starting to realize how weird this is. I don’t know what to do about it, though, since I can’t say, “Oh hey Mom, I know things are weird between you and Dad because y’all won’t talk to each other about this overdue divorce you two are going through, but this is my room and although I didn’t pay for this house it’s not technically owned by me, but in case you haven’t noticed I’m home from college now and need somewhere to live, so will you allow me that or have you just forgotten? Oh, and I know you’re funny about labels, but I’ve tried to explain introversion to you and thought I would just remind you that your kid is really awkward about stuff like this, so yeah. Let me know. Thanks.”

Maybe I should start looking for a second job. Or go fishing. Or just pitch a tent in the backyard.

This song always reminded me of my grandfather’s land. What I would give to be there now.

This is the end of the innocence. Who knows how long this will last, now we’ve come so far, so fast.

(Don Henley, End of the Innocence)

Walking like a one-man army fighting with the shadows in your head

We all know I have pride issues. Yeah, I admit it, even though I would rather die than say it aloud, so I’ll just passive-aggressively mention it on here. That’s what blogs are for, right?

Take out of your wasted honor, every little past frustration. Take all your so-called problems. Better put them in quotations.

So let’s get to it, then. My parents are getting divorced. Despite it being a long time coming and having watched their marriage rapidly disintegrate over the past decade I haven’t been able to fully brace myself for now that it has came down to the moment of. I thought I had done an okay job of it, too, until I found myself hugging the toilet bowl in my parents’ bathroom over Easter break while my mom nonchalantly cleaned out her side of the cabinet next to me. It was then that I realized what defeat feels like.

Since then I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to reason with how I should address what is going on. My parents seem to be handling it pretty well, or at least as well as they can with them being the two types of people that they are. When my mom’s parents got divorced at the same time in her life, she ran. She went everywhere except home: France, Dallas, New York, Mississippi, the list goes on. She never talked to her dad about why she couldn’t talk to him. She reminds me of that every chance she gets, which is pretty often since I find myself in the exact same predicament with my dad. Hers died before she told him, but honestly I don’t think she ever would have even if he were still alive today. My dad’s parents never divorced or had any major marriage problems that I know of, but he had enough other personal challenges to face, through which he drank his way and developed a defensive wall of denial as a result. That’s why I can’t talk to him. I have to, though, because I refuse to let my life go down either or both of the paths theirs have.

Knowing you’d be better off instead if you could only say what you need to say.

I’m afraid of hurting their feelings if I really tell them how I feel. Even if I’m not blatantly upfront with them about the rage I can have towards everything that has formed inside of me over the course of my life there are still some more tame thoughts they probably have no idea exist in my mind. I don’t know why I’m concerned with their reactions, since they seem to have gone through the past ten years with only one concern about how their dysfunction may be effecting my brother and I, which was that they didn’t get divorced sooner because we were still in school. Honestly, I don’t think neither my brother nor I would have cared about the part our ages played in whatever was going on at the time. It probably would have been better not to drag it out for so long, but there’s no point in that since now is the time and we all need to address it accordingly, which no one has.

You’d better know that in the end it’s better to say too much than never to say what you need to say again.

In all reality, the two of them are handling the situation much better than I anticipated. My brother isn’t saying much about how he feels about it, regardless of his personal outlook on either of our parents, but he never says much about how he feels anyway. Mom and Dad have both told me their feelings about each other in confidence, which hasn’t helped the overall situation, but has made me feel a little better knowing that there isn’t any hostility on either of their parts. I just don’t know what this final occurrence will bring, and I’m scared. Now that it’s come down to it I realize that everything I have built up over the past decade doesn’t apply, and I don’t like it. Now all I can do is put on my game face and actually address it. Even writing that is hard. I can only imagine how difficult it is going to be when I get home in two weeks and sit everyone down and let the cage match begin. I know I have to do it as much as I don’t want to. Things are going to get ugly, but things are going to get resolved, and that’s all I can hope for at this point.

(John Mayer, Say)

I guess I should take a moment and say that no, despite not having published anything in over a month, I’m not dead. I stopped in on the friend of mine who inspired my blog the other day and was told that I should let the people who follow me know that I am alive. So yeah, hi, and despite having had plenty to write about I haven’t felt the need to write about any of it, so that’s that. I’m hoping that will change soon, though.

It’s wanting more that’s gonna send me to my knees

I’m mad at you. I’m so infuriated at you. That’s easy to say for me because of how much I liked you, even if it was brief. But when it really comes down to it, I’m not so mad at you as much as I am mad at myself for liking you. You ended it without realizing it, and I honestly don’t think you’re currently aware of why things ended so abruptly, but I was the reason it started.

All you ever did was say hi. I later found out that you had ulterior motives for saying hi, but it was mostly because you’re a friendly person. I said hi back and somewhere between then and late December something happened, something that would motivate you to make plans to drive from another state to see me even though those plans never got to play out because we stopped talking only a week before I was supposed to get to see you. And here I am now, wondering if it would have been as good as we were anticipating or if we’re better off never having met each other. I feel like I have met you, though. Who knows how many hours we’ve stayed up talking on the phone, which is something I am not known for, or how many text messages were sent or pictures exchanged or questions asked or smiles heard or anything else that makes me look back and wonder what happened to me then.

Twice as much ain’t twice as good and can’t sustain like one half could.

There are some things I told you over the course of whatever that was that I had never gone into detail with other people before. Now I can’t believe I owned up to parts of myself so easily. It was so effortless at the time and now as I sit here typing this I feel so bothered by it. That is a sense of security I will never have back completely, and I want it back. I can’t have that, though, and I have to live with it, but I don’t want to. There are things you shared with me, of course, since this was a mutual experience, but those things mean nothing to me now that we haven’t talked in a while. We’re still friendly as people should be, but where did what we had go? I don’t want it to come back, don’t get me wrong. I just find it so miraculous how something can start in an instant and end just as quickly and you never saw either of them coming. You were just thrown into the middle of a whirlwind that lasted only a moment and then left as quick as it came, leaving me sitting there wondering what just happened.

I’m mad at you. I’m mad at you for saying hello and I’m mad at you for making me leave my phone in my room that night so that I wouldn’t call you and tell you what an idiot you are for getting into an argument with me while you were intoxicated, which is one of the few real deal breakers for me. I’m mad at you for making me happy and I’m mad at you for giving me hope.

Gravity has taken better men than me. How can that be? Just keep me where the light is.

But most of all, I’m mad at myself because I’m just as responsible for it all as you are.

(John Mayer, Gravity)

I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat

I have always been a giver. I remember being younger and having a friend over who would comment on something of mine that they liked, so as long as I knew it wasn’t something I didn’t have the right to pass on, I would give it away right then. It was just an object to me. Not that it didn’t have sentimental value, but I guess I just saw it as the opportunity for it to be passed on to the next person who would be able to get just as much enjoyment, or more enjoyment, out of it as I did.

I never thought anything of that until I was sitting in the LifeBlood bus yesterday morning. I had been working extra hard for the past 24 hours to get and keep my blood sugar high enough to be able to give blood. I had only done it once before, during my senior year of high school, and after getting rejected when I attempted a second time that same year, I knew I couldn’t fail now. I remember what it felt like to have to walk back into my high school with tears in my eyes and have people ask me why I didn’t get to give blood and not be able to give an answer because I was still in the middle of multiple years of blood tests and doctors appointments. I couldn’t go through that again. I drank B12 and protein shakes like my life depended on it. I ate three eggs with my dinner the night before and three with my breakfast the morning of. I also took twice as many glucose tablets as I normally would and tried not to do any strenuous activity. My energy was vital. Finally, the time came. Armed with one of my best friends, I marched into the LifeBlood bus. After finding out that my levels and blood pressure were perfect and being asked too many questions about how long I was in Europe, I was ready to jump in the chair. By then my friend was half way through her donation, but I didn’t mind. My time was finally here. I distracted myself as they inserted the needle and told myself that I would never look down, which lasted about ten seconds until I looked down and saw my blood flowing out of my arm into the pint-sized bag below me. I had worked so hard for this moment, both mentally and physically, and here it was. Somewhere along the line a fellow student I had never seen before came in and sat down in the chair next to me. After about five minutes his bag was almost full, so he took the opportunity to say, “Hey, is it just me, or is my bag filling up a lot faster than hers?” I shot him a look that would scare the devil. Good thing he was out of there almost immediately because I had to give myself a pep talk that it didn’t matter how fast it was happening- it was happening. My friend added some dark humor to the situation by saying not to let it bother me because if he and I were stuck somewhere dying he would just bleed out faster. Not usually my sense of humor, but I was kind of loopy and I appreciated the gesture. Once I was done, which took about twenty minutes, I munched on a bag of Sunchips at the other end of the bus that I had grabbed from a box of snacks that said Snacks for Heroes on it. I swelled upon reading it. Five minutes later I found myself sitting beneath my friend in the library eating chocolate chip cookies and drinking water since I had gotten dizzy and almost fallen over and had to have her babysit me for a few minutes while she worked on her homework. Apart from not being able to fully participate in yoga, I’ve been just dandy ever since. I’m very proud of my stick spot on my inner elbow.

I finished my day with a meeting with my college’s Relay For Life chapter. 49 days and counting until I will be staying awake overnight making laps around the track to raise money for cancer awareness. I know what it’s like to have endless doctors visits, lots of poking and sticking and questions, and not know what any of it means or what results it will bring. I can only imagine what it is like on the cancer level. That’s one of the reasons why I want to help. These people are my brothers and my sisters. I don’t know who will benefit from my efforts, but all I need to know is that someone will. It’s what keeps me going.

I had a discussion with one of my counselors this afternoon on what I have to do to guarantee that when I die my body will be donated to science, whether that be for research or to people who need my organs. Either way it will hopefully benefit someone. Knowing when I was sitting in that chair watching my own blood slowly but surely travel down the little tube into the bag, I had a combination of two thoughts: that a part of me, a physical part of me, was coming out from inside of me and being given to someone, for the second time, and that I wish I could have given more than just a pint. It is now that I am writing this that I am thinking about what I haven’t been able to give before. Romantic love and sex have never been heavily considered as something I could provide someone. This is the first time in my life that I have wanted to shout, “TAKE ALL OF ME! TAKE ALL THAT I HAVE!” and mean it completely. To say that it feels good is too much of an understatement. There are no words.

(Winston Churchill)

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet

There is a lot of unnecessary talk about Valentine’s Day. People bitch about how expensive it is or how it’s only for couples, or some go so far as to complain about the people who complain. Wake up and smell the roses, people. It’s just another day, but it’s there for you to make what you will of it. I prefer to take advantage of the good mood it puts me in.

I started out my day last Tuesday in my 8:00 am Shakespeare class. We were reading one of my favorite comedies, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, when I realized that I was wearing my t-shirt I got at Shakespeare’s house in Stratford upon Avon two summers ago. It brought to mind an incident last summer as my friends and I were walking to the Globe Theater in London. We were crossing a bridge when I looked up and saw a guy about my age wearing the exact same shirt. I had never seen it anywhere else and I became very excited, resulting in me waving him down as he walked closer, which caused some confusion on his part since he was just trying to mind his own business with his headphones in. When he realized what I was wildly gesturing about, he grinned, we passed each other with an enthusiastic high-five, and carried on our merry ways. Not a word was exchanged. That moment will make me smile forever, especially since I doubt it will ever happen again.

Moments like that are what make my world turn. That’s why I bought a dozen roses again this year to be given out as needed throughout the week. The smiles on my friends’ faces provided more for me than any boyfriend or girlfriend could, especially when I surprised five of my friends with them on Thursday, the opening night of the Vagina Monologues. I couldn’t be there since I was at a dress rehearsal for Opera Scenes across the street, but the constant vibrating of my phone receiving happy thank you texts was just as good as seeing their reactions in person.

I finished my week by going to support my ladies at the Vagina Monologues last night. It was as inspiring as ever. I’m glad I got to see them for one more time before I’m hopefully up on stage with the rest of them next year. I laughed, cried, and left feeling exhilarated, just in time for a few friends of friends to contact me and ask if I was still up for returning to the Rumba Room for more dancing. Despite our original group of nine friends having dwindled down to four over the course of the day, I still had a lot of fun. I got to know some people I had only talked to in passing before and I hope I continue to get to know them more. I can always use more love in my life.

Now I find myself reflecting on my week over my last piece of Valentine’s Day candy I bought myself as I watch the two roses left from the dozen slowly wilt. It’s a new week and I’m very excited to see what all it will bring.

(William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream)

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin

It was about this time last year that I got involved with a male friend of mine on a whim and a few drinks. I don’t remember which day it was when it initially started, but since I saw him last night and Valentine’s Day is coming up, it came to mind that it’s been a year already since the last time I gave anything a go. That’s okay with me, but my, does time fly.

He gave me white carnations for Valentine’s Day despite my instructions for him to not give me anything since we both knew we weren’t “anything.” He did it anyway. I can’t say I wasn’t happy about it since I got him something anyway as well.

February of last year was a time when I felt like a young girl. Actually, the feeling lasted until May, but February in particular stands out to me. Maybe because it seems like eons ago in comparison to how I felt about myself last night.

Last night was a night of low lights, high heels, and smooth music. A few girlfriends and I got together to zip ourselves into dresses and strap on heels. I even put on makeup for the first time in a while. We all looked in the mirror, smiling with anticipation, and cranked up the music as we pulled out of the campus. Nothing could have prepared us for the flattery and self-confidence we were about to experience. We set our things down in a remote corner and met up with some friends of friends and took a moment to look at the people inhabiting the dance floor.

It was beautiful. I had never seen anything like it. There were all styles of clothing from formal to casual and different body types who all had their own way of movement, but everyone was in step and experienced, and sure knew how to hide it if they weren’t. The DJ was playing swing music, so instead of the usual pulsating vibes accompanied by grinding, there were outstretched arms, kicking, spinning, and emotions. I enjoy typical night clubs as much as the next person, but this is what I had been waiting for. As soon as I had gotten a feel for it, one of my friend’s friends asked me to dance. I couldn’t get out there fast enough.

A few songs later I was sitting on the couch grinning with one of my friends when my eyes focused on our other friend who was out on the floor. I had just seen her a moment ago, but now she looked like a completely different person. She looked grown, like a real woman, although she is my age. She was wearing a blue shiny dress of mine, Calvin Klein, with nude heels and her blonde hair pulled back into a clip, which exposed her heavy-lidded eyes and full lips. She looked stunning and completely unaware of it as she happily followed the lead of a random 30-something who continued to dance with her off and on throughout the night.

About an hour after our arrival was when the swing was stopped and everyone gathered on the floor for a complimentary basic salsa lesson. After about thirty minutes of instruction and repetition everyone was rearing to put their newly acquired skills to the test, so with that, we all dispersed and watched some of the more experienced dancers take the floor. They were marvelous to behold. I watched them intensely, wishing for that to be me, when a middle-aged man approached me and asked me to dance. I happily agreed and followed him to the floor, warning him as we began that he may need to be patient with me. He didn’t mind. I was grateful.

I was approached one song after another by men of all ages. At times I would go to leave the floor and wouldn’t have the chance before another one would be in front of me asking if he could have a turn. It was thrilling and innocently fun. I got more and more confident in my rookie abilities as the night progressed. I was twirled, pulled, guided, and complimented. In the middle of one of my last dances my guy friend from last year arrived and asked one of my girlfriends to dance. Since he didn’t know how to salsa they danced some basic swing and I said hi as I spun past him, my dress swirling around my legs. I was being watched, but I couldn’t afford to be concerned while I was stepping backwards, forwards, sideways, and being spun madly in the process. Good thing I wore practical unders.

From being turned at many different angles, I could see my friends watching, waiting, laughing, as we all would talk about each other while we filtered on and off the floor. This time the discussion was about me. It was my turn to be seen a young woman in my borrowed swishy purple dress and borrowed strappy heels, my dark hair straight down my back and my eyelids lined with black liner. As the thought came to mind, the feeling did, too. It felt like how I imagine invincibility would feel.

A little while later, after everything had died down, we all piled back in the car to go home. Our feet were on fire. We had to crank up the air instead of the music and I had my legs propped up on the dashboard. I reflected on what I had just experienced. Over the four hours we had spent exhausting ourselves, I came to the realization that I had found an incredible community of fearless people. Men and women of different height, age, and ethnicity were willing to teach each other in order to share a fun three minutes here and there. There was no awkward mounting, making out, groping, or fighting that my generation is too used to. It was simple. It was thrilling. It was safe and brand new at the same time. And I must find myself there again very soon.

Oh, let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone.

(Leonard Cohen, Dance Me to the End of Love)

Now I’m back in school and though the faces may have changed, the hassles are just the same

I enjoy the familiar things: Knowing all the lyrics to a good song, being able to quote your favorite TV show, the feeling of pulling on worn-in jeans, the seat cushion of my Jeep, the smell of river water, the taste of English tea, the feeling of Converse, the smell of cedar cabins, the feeling of wet rocks under bare feet, the sound of a friend’s voice on the other end of the phone, the feeling of a fresh haircut, the smell of cut grass, the way the light looks in my parents’ bathroom, the experience of camp, the sounds of the music hall, the feeling of putting on dry clothes after being out in the rain, the sound of easy music while you dance with someone who really knows how to move you, the sound of a camera shutter, the smell of hair dye, the experience of going to the theater, the feeling of a good handshake, the smell of old and new books, the feeling  of a hug from someone who will really miss you, and the feeling of a hug from someone who really has missed you.

I have been back at Rhodes for a whole week now. Today was the day I reintroduced myself to three hundred and fifty three email recipients as I regained my position as secretary of the Gay-Straight alliance. I sent out the first email of the semester and despite feeling a little rusty when it came to technical things, I could write it just as easily as I could this time last April. It felt so nice. I also edited and printed the flyers to hand out at the activities fair tomorrow where I’ll be standing at a rainbow table hollering at people to come sign up, just as the guys were doing when I was convinced during my first week of freshman year.

In the past week, I have moved into a dorm on my friends’ side of campus, had my third first yoga class, wandered around the music hall where I immediately recognized my friend’s voice from a few rooms down as he tinkered around on the piano, and had multiple breakfasts, lunches, and dinners with my friends from European Studies. We’re almost always together as we hang things on each others doors, drink tea, and laugh. Oh boy, do we laugh. It’s so great. I couldn’t be happier that they’re a regular part of my life again.

There are also a few things I’m still working on getting used to, such as the new cafeteria layout, the 8:00 Shakespeare class I’m trying to get my game face on for, a new roommate, having a car on campus, and all the new people. It’s only been a week and I’m starting to get back into the swing of things much better than anticipated, so I’m down with that. And I’m not going through it alone. I have my two closest friends from the trip, fraternal twin and wonder twin, or also known as Geoffrey Jellineck and Jerri Blank (since they told me I was Chuck Noblet), with me to save me from faulty computers and awkward personal encounters. It’s going to be a good semester.

(Strangers With Candy)

Hey baby, some things are too big to ignore

I don’t understand what you’re waiting for. Oh, listen baby, everything’s quiet. Something is happening; we can’t deny it. Nature’s askin’ us to do the natural thing, so come on baby, let your freedom ring.

I looked up at her in a casual oh-I-just-happen-to-be-making-eye-contact-with-you-right-now kind of way. It was completely intentional on my part, but I had to play it off as coincidence as to not draw suspicion and to keep her oblivious to my intentions. She looked me up and down as I walked through the dining hall in my floral sundress that I had worn that afternoon simply to see if it would grab her attention. It had. She reached her small hand out and motioned me to come up to the window. I approached with a casual demeanor although internally I was in a panic. When I got to the edge, she pushed the brim of her hat back, glanced around quickly, and asked, “Why are you looking so fine today?” I was taken aback but I would have rather died than let it show, so I looked right back at her with a look of slight concern and amusement on my face and replied, “Just for you, baby,” winked at her, smiled, and walked away. It was the strangest mix of confidence and disappointment since I knew that despite having been 100% honest with her, she would never know it. In her guarded mind, she was always just kidding.

She was blinded by her religion and I knew if she had simply accepted her sexuality that everyone was aware of besides her we could have had something really great last summer while sneaking out at night to hang out by the lake and stealing a moment at meals to give a hug or a whisper about an inside joke. She was the first girl I ever really liked. I was doomed from the start when we bonded over having the same watch with the same technical problems and her opinion of one of my t shirts that made no sense, which I have since gotten rid of. I never gave up in my attempts to see her, even just for a moment. I covered my tracks at meals by making sure my campers were thoroughly hydrated and in the process being provided with the opportunity to repeatedly have the water jug refilled by her. She worked in the kitchen and I taught swim lessons. I would swim over to the dock she would sit at during her time off to say hello but try not to hang around too long since my real goal during that time of day was to swim distance, mostly in an attempt to get out some of the frustration formed as a result of her never giving in to her instincts. I didn’t know what to do with myself on the day she got fired for possession. She had called me to say goodbye as she was about to leave, but I missed the call. As soon as I realized what was going on, I sprinted across camp to her car and caught her just as she was about to drive away. I didn’t know what to say to her, so I just hugged her and watched her leave. I later found out that I was only one of two people she tried to notify before leaving. I walked down to where one of my friends who was aware of my situation was sitting and told her what had happened. She didn’t offer me advice or try to tell me that it would work out. She just told me she was sorry and that she was all ears if I needed to say anything. I didn’t have anything to say, but I was glad for that.

She’s texted me once or twice since then. One time it was a picture of a shirt almost identical to the one of mine which she had liked so much. If I said that I didn’t think of her much I would be lying, but if I told you that I missed her I would still be lying. I don’t think things should have worked out, nor do I wish we were still in contact. I simply find myself remembering what it felt like to walk around hand in hand in the middle of the night, to escape from the blazing heat into the kitchen for a hug, to make eye contact that would erupt in a giant grin on both our parts, to hear her cheer for me as I made the terrifying plunge off the zip-line in to the black lake, to her sneaking pizza out of the kitchen for me during the one night I had to spend in the infirmary, to have all of our friends plotting and scheming behind our backs in our favor, and for one day it all to be gone. Summer fades and with it does everything that it once produced, and while this was more like a band aid being removed with a quick tug, at least everything that happened in between was nice.

(Patty Griffin, Let Your Freedom Ring)

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?

Out of fourteen resolutions established at the beginning of last year, I managed to fulfill eleven and a half of them. Not bad. The only two and a half that remained were to eat more sushi, go skydiving, and finish wallpapering my room with magazine clippings and pictures, which I changed my mind about two months ago when I began to think of other, simpler options since high school was over and all the images had lost their purpose. I have since taken down everything and begun the tedious task of washing all the messages, inside jokes, and signatures my friends had written over the course of two years in non-permanent marker. That’s why that resolution only counted as half.

New year, new list. Since I hadn’t thought much of what I want to finagle this year save for a thought here and there, I spent ten minutes holed up in my chair in my closet staring at myself in the mirror and telling myself what all I wanted to have happen this year. Here are the results:

1. Drink more water (it’s an every year kind of thing)
2. Grow my hair (another every year kind of thing), but down to my belly button or somewhere
3. Cut my hair, or rather donate it, since I would be doing it for someone other than myself
4. Get a 4.0 GPA over the next two semesters although I would be happy with at least a 3.5
5. Go back to camp, cause if I did it last year I can do it again, and for ten weeks this time
6. Swim five miles while at camp compared to the two I swam last year
7. Paint my bedroom walls
8. Work up to and run a 5K even if I die in the process since I’m hardly a runner
9. Come out with pride to more than just my family and close friends
10. Improve my blog with more thoughts and personality, which seems to be going pretty well so far
11. Maybe try to start dating? Hell, I said that last year
12. Go to Atlanta since I have three good friends who live there, which means I have three good reasons to go

I’ve been thinking a lot about the fantastic new people that this past year has brought into my life. It wasn’t until I met them and embraced their free ways of thinking, smiling faces, contagious laughter, and nonjudgmental ways of getting to know me, really getting to know me, that it finally resonated how much I had been judged and misunderstood by my friends before them, the ones who didn’t want to know the finer details that made up who I am. The ones who were afraid of me, of my potential. I’ve only grown into more of who I truly am since I got to college and some people don’t like that. I’ve lost my mind, my inhibitions, my give-a-damn-er. I laugh louder and longer, I smile wider, I hug tighter now. I actually live now. I’ve seen emotions and felt love that I could have never experienced before I allowed it into my life and I can’t ever go back. Not because I refuse to, but because it’s impossible. Since then I have tried to hang out with a few of my high school friends and it’s all I can do to keep myself from standing up on the highest surface and exclaiming that I have moved on. But I don’t know how to do that yet, and I don’t want to hurt anyone although sometimes I feel like that feeling isn’t a mutual one. I have to let myself go. That is my most important new year’s resolution.

And most importantly, if all else fails:

“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope somewhere in the next year you surprise yourself.”

(Jeff Buckley, Auld Lang Syne; Neil Gaiman)