Oh, how we hold onto THINGS!

The past week has been a tedious week for me. I've devoted a lot of my time to the theatre up at my college running the lights for the production of Becky's New Car since the original person couldn't do it. It's a great play to watch, but after seeing it so many times, I was beginning to get my fill of it. However, there's one line that always stands out to me, no matter how many times I watch it. When Walter Flood says, "Oh, how we hold onto things!", I can't help but glance down at my grandma's ring. Funny, holding onto things. Why do they always bring me comfort? Whether it's something that's passed down or given to me, I can't help but hoard it away. It makes me think of memories, and memories make me think of Tony.

For anyone who really knows me and who has been with me all the way up until Christmas break, you know that Tony and I were inseparable. He knew me better than anyone else did and who ever will, and no one will ever have the same bond with me as he did. It was crazy, to be honest. He always knew what to do or say when I was upset. He would always get me out of the house when things became too much to handle. Our late walks at night became routine, and chalk drawings were always a favorite hobby of ours. Sugarland was our music any time of the day, and we would often stay up until the ungodly hours of the morning talking about our hopes and dreams, what we thought about death, God, and we would even fight sleep just to see how long we could fight it for. And then, somewhere along the way, things took a turn for the worst. I don't want to get into details, but things changed dramatically. Now, whenever I see him, I have the strongest urge to walk up to him and start talking like old times. But at the same time, seeing him makes me sick to my stomach. It's one of those moments where I'll stare at him and try to remember who he is, and how much of a role he's played in my life. Ten years of memorizing that face, those eyes... it's hard to look away, to think that he's the same guy. And then his eyes meet mine and I look away, trying to forget; trying to shake the memories away as my heart crumbles to bits. How could we have gotten this far just to watch our little Jericho fall to the ground like nothing? We trusted each other with everything we had, made time for each other whenever we could, and no matter how stupid we felt rambling on about something that shouldn't have been as big of a deal as it was, we never felt idiotic in the end because we both had that kind of understanding. We both knew what to say without even having to think, and we had memorized each other so well that we couldn't hide anything, ever. We always threw our cards out on the table, no questions asked. And I guess that's why we aren't friends today. I knew him so well that I could see change happening, and I was no longer one of the main concerns anymore. I had been replaced by someone much more addicting, and I soon found myself spending weeks at a time without seeing him. My depression went out of control, and after that, it was over. I said things that I shouldn't have said even though I was in the wrong state of mind at the time, and even though I tried explaining it, my excuse wasn't good enough. I said what I said and that was that, and I was called a hypocrite and a liar and a shit talker. My best friend, the one who had seen me at my absolute, and I mean absolute worst... the one who had always been kind in patience and plentiful in love, and the one who always forgave me no matter what was going on with me, had left me for dead. Left me for her. I was no longer a priority. I was tossed aside like yesterday's news, and although I was the one who said lets just end it, he never took the time to let me breathe, nor did he ever try to ask for an explanation. Seeing him makes me sick. That's why I look away.

I never realized what it was like to be so disgusted that I couldn't even look a person straight in the eye. But after ten years of thinking a friendship is going to be for a lifetime, and then watching it crumble, I now have that understanding. I can no longer go on walks with people around my neighborhood because it's just not the same. I can't draw with chalk. I still listen to Sugarland every now and then, but not much anymore. It's just all too bittersweet. Heck, I can't even listen to "For Good". I don't know how I'm going to make it through the production of Wicked in December without crying my eyes out. I miss him so much, but not who he is now. I miss who he was, and what we were. I miss the history of our beautiful friendship, and how it was something that not everyone gets to experience. Sure, people tell me that I'm better off without him, and better off without the hurt he was causing me, but no one understands just how important that boy was in my life. He's the one who shaped me and who helped me become a better person. He was the one who taught me how to laugh and how to be myself, and he even made me realize that if I'm a weirdo, hey, let that weirdness shine. He's done so much for me, and I miss having that reassurance that I felt so many times before just by having him around. No matter how awkward a situation was, he was there to break the ice and to bring me out of my shell. The part of me that I loved... the part that he brought out the best... began dying soon after I made the decision to walk away for good. I will never be the same without him.

All I want is an apology and my best friend back. I want to sit down with him and explain to him what happened back in December when my depression had worsened. I want to tell him the thoughts that were running through my mind, how I had starved myself for a full 24 hours because I was too sad to get up off my bum, and I want to tell him how much I missed him during that time when he was running around with her and neglecting me. I want him to understand the state my mind was in, and how half of the things I was thinking or saying weren't normal. I want to ask him what happened, and why he started making the choices he made. But I can't do that now. It's too late, because my best friend is gone, and no matter how many times he tries to walk back into my life, pretending as though nothing has happened will never fix anything. I want to hear an apology. I want honesty. I want to trust him so I can laugh again and be happy like I used to be. Nothing is the same, and nothing ever will be. I lost the one thing that I will never find again, the one thing that you can only find once in a lifetime: true friendship. Someone who knows you so well that they can decipher any facial expression, any stare, any smile or frown, any tone in your voice, any body movement, and know exactly what's wrong and how to fix it without needing to think twice. They just get you.

I hold onto his paintings. I hold onto the hat he gave me. I hold onto the photographs. I'll never be able to throw them away, nor will I ever be able to look at them without feeling that surge of sadness and sickness that accompanies a bad memory. Sometimes I wonder whether I should be thankful for our friendship, or hate it for what it's doing to me. I may smile and laugh, and I may be able to forget about him a good amount of the time. But no matter what, he's always going to be in the back of my mind. I guess I just don't have the heart to throw him out, and I never will. Those memories are going to haunt me for the rest of my life, and no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to let go of them.

One Year Stronger

Well, here I am, writing another blog. I feel like I've really fallen down on blogging, mainly because I'm a procrastinator that enjoys being lazy up until there's an important homework assignment I need to get done. Why I don't blog during my procrastination time, I have no idea. You'd think that with my love for writing, I'd be pounding my fingertips against these keys like there was no tomorrow. Of course, if there really was no tomorrow, this blog would be extremely long and meaningful, where I'd reveal all of my personal thoughts and secrets. But lets not get into that. I'm rambling.

I woke up at nine today to get ready for school, and I even went the extra mile of curling my hair. I usually sleep too long to have time for that. Once I got to school, I decided to skip English 2 because my teacher wanted one typed paragraph about the person I was going to be researching for the research report, and he also wanted a typed works cited page. Of course, I've been procrastinating and haven't even started my research. But I do know that it will be over Walt Disney, and I do know how to cite sources. All of my writing classes that I've taken the past four years have really hammered down on that. Plus, why show up to class and turn in a practice works cited page if I already know how to do it? We don't get graded on any of this. The only things we're graded on are the three papers we do this semester, and even if I pass with a B, I'll be one happy girl.

Our English teacher isn't that great at teaching. Sure, he's a fun guy to talk to, and I would love to have him as a grandpa, but when he teaches, all he does is write notes on the board that aren't even in a logical order. Then he circles certain words and draws arrows all over the place while half mumbling to himself. He's extremely vague, and I don't really care to show up to class. I see no point in it. I know what I'm doing, and he uses a lot of redundancy. Last week, he put the class into groups to cite sources of all kinds, and while two of the people out of the four paged through the book and questioned whether they were citing correctly or not, all I could think was Come on. Just follow the example in the book that it gives you. It isn't that difficult. Although, I guess I shouldn't really degrade them since one is older and is a returning student, while the other may have only done one or two research papers in his life. But I feel like I should be in a different class. The other guy who was sitting next to me was telling me about how he didn't really understand the teacher either, so I think most of my class feels like they're showing up for pointless reasons. "You will want to have good attendance in order to do well" my ass.

Anyway, like I said, I haven't started my research project yet. Good ol' procrastination, right? I plan to work endlessly on homework Saturday, from dawn to dusk, in order to get everything accomplished since it's my only day off from theatre. Oh yeah, theatre. I'm part of running crew, in case you didn't read the last blog. One of the girls was unable to work the lights, and seeing as how I currently have no job, and therefore, no schedule, I told her that I would do it. She was very thankful, and it made me feel good to know that I was being useful in some way.

I went to creative writing at one today, but for some reason, I just felt really disconnected from the class. It could have been because I was tired, but it also could have been the content of the stories we had to read through. My brain just didn't feel like working, and the only story that I actually participated in critiquing was Ed's piece. It was entertaining and I could hear him talking in the dialogue while picturing his wild hand gestures in my mind. I couldn't help but smile and secretly chuckle. Once that let out, we walked Ally to her car and then headed over to the student center to chill out. I went home around four, checked on Derby (which I will give you an update on later in this blog post), ate dinner, and then headed up to school for the play. I made sure to have a cup of coffee beforehand since I was falling asleep, and I put in two packets of hot cocoa plus some Hershey's syrup. Yes, I know, lots of chocolate. But I just hate the taste of coffee, and I needed a lot of caffeine to keep me going. So I got the sugar + caffeine benefit.

This was my first night I spent on running crew, and I was extremely nervous. I'm pretty sure that I have anxiety since it runs in my family, but it's only with people I don't know too well. I think that it's because ever since I was five years old, the mean girls in my class made it no secret that they despised me, always looking at me and pointing while they whispered to each other. Some of them would even make sure to point out how weird I was. And so when I'm around people who I don't know or who I barely know, there's always that voice in the back of my head telling me that I don't belong, and that they don't like me, and that they'll talk about me behind my back. It's very frustrating to deal with, so when I was dropped off, my chest got all tight, and I felt like my heart rate was speeding up. The air seemed a little thinner and more difficult to breathe, and when Ally met me (she's on crew too), I told her how nervous I was getting. She calmed me down a lot just by talking to me, and by the time I was in the theatre, I felt fine. Still, I can't get over how angry I feel to have to deal with those terrible thoughts. I wish I could go somewhere by myself without feeling like everyone is judging me and whispering about me. I hate it so much, and I can't do anything about it.

We basically watched the show tonight. The actors and actresses were amazing (as usual), and I found myself laughing quite a lot. There were some great lines in there, and I think that even though it's about a middle-aged woman wanting a new life, even younger people, like myself, can relate to it. I definitely don't want to live here all my life. I feel like I'm trapped in a life-sucking city that will only eat my dreams away, and I want to get out of it and escape to somewhere else.

There was a lot of talking going on before the show since, you know, I had coffee. Haha. And so when I was talking to Ally, I realized that I was talking at a fast rate and I was talking a lot. I stopped and asked, "Am I talking too much?" Ally laughed and said no, and that she liked hearing my voice.

Even as I look back and read the above sentences, I feel like I've interwoven them with doses of caffeine. I sound like some caffeine-intoxicated loon, and as I told my friend Jes earlier, if people didn't know I was a good girl, they'd think I was high or on drugs. My writing tonight is all over the place, so I apologize for that.

What I liked the most about tonight was how happy Lonna was to see us show up. Whenever she sees students like me walk into the room, she just gets the brightest, most sincere smile across her face, and I love it. She really makes me feel like I'm an important contributor to the theatre, and although I don't want to major in anything related to it, I feel like I'm a part of it, in a way. She's the teacher who made me want to try it out, and to learn more about what it's like to be involved in something that really does require team effort. It's kind of like my version of a sports team, and I say "my version" because I was never any good at the actual sports. Haha. My stagecraft class has become a mini family, and I also think that Lonna feels like she's part of it too. I'm really glad to have had her for my intro to theatre teacher, because if I hadn't, I probably wouldn't have taken stagecraft. I was nervous when I did, because I felt like a fish out of water, but she really has this talent of making you feel like you are an important person in the scheme of things. I've noticed that even on her down days, I'm good at making her smile. She may not smile long, but I still manage to make some of her frustration and/or stress disappear for a moment. She's really changed my life, and I'm going to miss having her as a teacher, seeing as how I will be taking no theatre classes next semester. It makes me sad. Kind of funny, in a way, how the introvert who has never belonged anywhere finally finds a cozy area to cocoon in for awhile. That's how I see my theatre experience. It's a place I can always find acceptance in, even if it means putting some work in to get it. (:

Speaking of cocoons, Derby is doing fine. I took a look at him when I got home today, and he was sleeping on a leaf stem. I took the plastic wrap off of the top of his house (don't worry, it has holes), and I tried to put some more water into the gauze to make sure he had enough water and moisture, and it sort of dribbled everywhere. So I went to get more gauze to soak it up, and I noticed that Derby woke up. I apologized to him, and he threw his head up like, "What the hell, man?!?!" So I got the excess water out and then returned him, and not even two minutes later, he was sleeping again. When I got back tonight, I went to take a look at him, and he had moved to a different leaf. He was bent in a < shape, just snoozing away, and I thought, Oh my gosh, he must be injured. The leaf stem went through his body. He's dead. On closer inspection, I saw that he was not dead, nor wounded. He was simply in an odd sleeping position. But hey, if that's what steers his ship, I'm not gonna criticize. Haha. He's probably building up strength so that he can make his cocoon soon. I say that it'll take him a week tops before he starts his metamorphosis, and I could be wrong. But hey, seems logical to me. Why else would a bug sleep that much?

A thought came to me while I was typing my theatre paragraph above, and I think that it represents the whole theme of my freshman year of college. When my grandma passed away, she had left me one final card from her and my grandpa. It was a card for my graduation, and it read:

Keep your eyes, ears, and mind open... the whole world is a classroom. Always be generous in patience, gratitude, and forgiveness. Be grateful for the role models in your life, and be one for someone else. Learn from other generations... from the wisdom of elders and the imagination of children. Keep a childlike sense of wonder. Believe in the beauty, the goodness, and the wisdom that are uniquely yours. There is only one you, and this world needs you... just as you are. Congratulations on your graduation.

This semester, I feel like I've really fulfilled everything that my grandma hoped I would, and I'm still working on it. The words in her card make my eyes well up with tears because I realize that she knew her time was up. She wanted me to have something meaningful to carry with me for the rest of my life, and somehow, she knew that these words were the best gift she could give me, because when writers read beautiful words, they tend to remember them and lock them away. This whole year without her has been a learning experience for me. I feared being involved in theatre for so long. I could feel a strong pull toward it, but I was always afraid of not belonging; of thinking that these theatre people had some kind of xray vision that scanned you and ruled out whether you were real or fake. But because of Lonna, I finally stopped standing at the edge of uncertainty and completely jumped into the unknown, which is something I've never done. I've also come to realize that even though it can be scary talking to people I don't know, we're all nervous about how other people might see us. I think that if I had hesitated and had not made all of the decisions that I've made, nothing would be the same right now. I may have never met Jes, or Allison. I may have never been friends with Ally. I may not have developed a theatre family, and who knows? I may have been sitting here with nothing to do tonight if I hadn't told my friend that I would take her place for running crew. And sure, I still have to write a report tonight and study for a test, but God, at least I'm living a little more! I'm beginning to understand that any opportunity life hands you should be grasped by the horns. And even if it may not seem like an opportunity, if it's a new experience waiting to happen, grab onto that too!! I've spent too much of my life being safe and staying away from things that made me feel nervous, scared, and uncomfortable, and maybe there was a good reason for that. But ever since my grandma died, I've been doing things differently without even realizing it. I think that inside, I've embraced what life is about, and my grandma's words must have been in there somewhere. Otherwise, things might have turned out differently.

My grandma has changed my way of thinking, and her words will stay with me for the rest of my life.

May 25th, 2011. Almost one year without her, almost one year stronger.

Lights and a caterpillar.

Hello, all. Yes, I know, I came up with a very creative title. Haha. But I don't really know what else to title it as, because that's all I can think to relate this blog to right now!

I walked into the FAB building like I would any Monday or Wednesday, not knowing that I was about to become part of the running crew for my school's play that we're putting on in a week and a half. But low and behold, one of my classmates said she couldn't do lights because she had plans that she made before she said she would be a part of the crew, and was only reminded a few days ago. She asked me if I would like to do lights, and although I hesitated, I told her that if they really needed someone, I would do it. I get nervous when it comes to knowing I have the power of screwing something very important up. So I headed into the theatre and began painting with my friend Abby. Jeff (one of the theatre workers) came up to me and said, "So you're interested in being on running crew?" I said, "Yes, if you really need someone." He then told me, "We really do." So he gave me the schedule and asked if I would be able to make all the dates, and I said that I would since I did not have a job and didn't have a work schedule to follow. He nodded and walked off, and I resumed painting. I know that it's going to be a very busy two weeks and that I will be dedicating a lot of time, but it feels good to be a part of something special like this (:

When I got out of class, my mom came and picked me up, then Shane, and we came home so I could help him with homework. Halfway through the work, my friend Kayla called me and said she found a caterpillar. I was ecstatic because I've been wanting one, and she asked me if I would like to have it. I said yes, so she brought it over and I made it a nice, roomy home to stay in. I filled it with some dirt, fresh, green leaves, some gauze with water in it, and a twig for when it's ready to make its cocoon. I also made sure to look it up online to check what kind of caterpillar it is, and it's a forest caterpillar, which will turn into a Forest Tent Caterpillar Moth. I was reading about what kind of leaves the caterpillars eat and where they make their cocoons, and I've done everything right. I just have to watch mine now. I decided to name it Derby since I have no idea whether it's a boy or girl. Unisex names are the best to stick with :P

Derby has already eaten quite a bit of one of his leaves I gave him, and he seems happy to be where he is. Of course, I do not know this for sure, but I know enough about caterpillars to know that as long as I keep checking up, it should be fine. (:

I read that these caterpillars make their cocoons six weeks after they hatch, so I'm going to keep track of when the cocooning starts so that I can estimate how long ago Derby was born. It will then stay in its cocoon for ten days, and come out as a beautiful brown moth, and will only live for a few days. Still, I love watching this metamorphosis take place. It's amazing.

Here is a picture of Derby

I will keep you all posted as much as I can. I don't know that I'll have much time to myself so long as I'm on running crew, but I would like to keep tabs on Derby until it turns into a moth!

Size twelve is plus-size?

I was on Facebook the other night and noticed in the ticker that someone had read an article on Yahoo! The article was titled: "Supermodels without photoshop." I thought to myself, Okay, you have my attention, so I clicked on the link and started reading. I was about to commend them for not using photoshop, but that quickly changed when I read the last of the paragraph: "From left to right we have Victoria's Secret model Alessandra Ambrosio, plus-size model Crystal Renn, and Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue cover girl Brooklyn Decker" (Douglas). As soon as I saw the words "plus-size", I immediately looked down at the picture, shocked that they would have a plus-size model. But then I stared at the picture in confusion. They were all skinny.

From what I can tell, Alessandra looks drastically unhealthy and bony. I would not want to touch her in fear of breaking her. Crystal actually looks to be a healthy weight, and so does Brooklyn. I kept looking back and forth from this picture to the words "plus-size". Something didn't add up. This can't be what society considers "fat" I thought to myself. I finally decided to read the rest of the article, and at the very bottom, it said: "*For the record, I just want to clarify that Crystal Renn is a size 12, and that is what the modeling industry--not myself--labels as plus-size" (Douglas). Alright, so this lady just brought up one good point in the article. No photoshop. Hey, that's one step up, right? But then she made the mistake of bringing weight into question. As if her ending statement (which I just quoted) fixes anything. It sounds as though she is trying to say, "Hey, I'm not the one making the rule. But it doesn't change the fact that size twelve is considered fat". Let me just say that the so-called "plus-size" model is probably wearing a bathing suit labeled "small" in size, because if that swimsuit was indeed a "1x", it wouldn't even fit me. I'd be considered morbidly obese in the modeling world given that horrible description of how weight is measured. Morbidly. Obese.

Honestly, where the fuck is our society headed? Are we striving to purge ourselves and puke up everything that we've ever eaten just so that we can fit into a size zero? Because I can tell you right now that I do NOT want to look like Alessandra. I'd be skin and bones, literally, and I'm sorry, but that just doesn't look right. It's disgusting, and any girl who thinks that bony figures are hot probably has an eating disorder because of models like the above who are told that if they want to stay in the business, they better lose weight. And for them, it's much too late, because they're already brainwashed. Not only that, but they're giving unrealistic expectations of what all of us should look like, even young girls who probably aren't older than twelve years. I just want to make it clear that SIZE TWELVE IS NOT PLUS SIZE.

I'm a size 16 in jeans, a size 18 in dresses, a large in shirts, and I'm okay with that. No way am I ready to go running ten miles and puking my guts out after every meal to grow a size smaller. If I decide to exercise, it's not going to be for the purpose of getting "skinny." It's going to be for the purpose of being healthy and feeling healthy. Yeah, maybe I do struggle to find the right pair of jeans that fit, and maybe I don't like the way some shirts look on me. But at least I'm not a skeleton who isn't enjoying her food because I'm worried about what other people might think of my size. Everyone is beautiful in their own special way, and we shouldn't have to be ashamed of ourselves because society doesn't like it. Fuck what society thinks. I know that I found myself involuntarily shaking my head at this article for a reason, and it's because it just isn't right, and I know it isn't right. And you do too.

Society is going down the drain, but we can change that, because we are society. So please go to this article and speak up.

Size twelve is not plus-size!!

Thanks for your time.


Works Cited:

Douglas, Joanna. "Supermodels without photoshop." Shine from Yahoo! 10 Mar. 2010. Web. 06 Apr. 2012 <http://shine.yahoo.com/fashion/supermodels-without-photoshop-1108305.html>.