close your eyes and i'll kiss you cause with the birds i'll share

"More lonely than alone."


I find a lot of relativity in that statement. (I probably used that word incorrectly. However, I lack the time nor desire to care enough to find out for sure.)

Today I went to Ally's house for the first time in months. Kristin, Gianna, and all the other Europe trip attendees left today. This week should turn out interesting. We watched the very beginning of 10,000 B.C. only to give up on it, and then watched Definitely, Maybe. I realized the full majesty of Nirvana's music and the power of Kurt Cobain's voice.

The other night, I spent a total of four and a half hours talking about life. Concepts like time, which we have only the word of others as proof, boggled our minds and amazed us as the thoughts poured out of our orifices. Philosophical statements blew out of our ears and into our minds where we kept them like a leftover cake, a mess beneath carefully applied saran wrap. Over the course of the day, or night--there is that time thing again, who's to say three in the morning is actually 'morning', rather than really late at night, or vice versa?--we unanimously decided that the things we never knew will not be missed, and order creates disorder.

There are two trees, one on Peter's front lawn, the other near Chris'. They have grown far beyond the others, the result of Darwin's theory of natural selection--only the tallest will reach the sunlight and thus, survive. Their branches, though, curl towards one another, reaching for each other, almost like the Sistine chapel's 'Christus Rex', the part with the fingers stretching. That blew my mind, for some odd reason.

Over the past few weeks, there have been numerous occasions during which I found myself strangely irritated by little things that certain people around me did. The first, I realized my penchant for pretty boys with the heart of true men. I discovered my annoyance for overly sensitive boys who constantly need their self-esteem stoked and stirred. Though sexist and old-fashioned, I believe that it should be the girl who is complaining about herself, if anyone is complaining at all. I'm all for confidence in my guys. Not overly cocky, nobody likes a big cockhead. However, between the two extremes, I would prefer overconfidence to complete self-hatred. As Brittany so eloquently put it, "If a guy thinks he's hideous, he probably is."

Well, this morning, I had an existential crisis, had people over for a brief time, then showered, and took a nap topless.

I'm trying to get my eloquence back.


I did really well on my report card, I'm extremely pleased with myself. Hah. I didn't think I'd be able to say that this year.








Once upon a time, there was a darling little girl who had a dream to be happily married. She wanted to have two kids, just as her parents did. She would wear a garland on her head and dress herself in white, spinning and twirling like she imagined a newlywed bride to. She carefully practiced walking to the tune of the wedding march and held a bouquet of artificial flowers in her little hands. She picked flowers in her backyard, kissing the petals and pretending they were her Prince Charming's. Her home transformed into a gated castle, her room was a tower, kept safe from harm by a magical barrier that she created with her meticulous imagination. She pictured a feast fit for a thousand, waltzes and pretty shoes. She wanted a band with every instrument in the world, and a beautiful glowing sunset behind her when she ran to their waiting 'Just Married' honeymoon getaway car. The little girl was full of happy scenarios and daydreamed her way through Disney movies--that is, if she wasn't sitting an inch away from the screen, reaching out and wishing she were the princess about to be swept off her feet. She dragged her four year old best friend, a sweet little boy who grew into a troubled man, and informed him of their marriage. He was oblivious, as most four year old males are apt to be, and agreed unconditionally to whatever she said. She misses that boy.