Working for the man.

I'm late for work, again, but that's nothing new.
Things at Dairy Queen are hardly tolerable, but then again, I wake up and think, God, I really need this money, so I go and I work. I rarely get shifts that end while there is still sun in the sky, and this whole getting off of work at midnight thing is starting to wear on me.
Danny is really the only person I've been hanging out with, and he starts work at eight every morning. By the time he gets off work, I'm usually at work, which gives us the night to hang out.
It's frustrating. My manager won't honor any schedule requests and our cleaning lady is out for awhile, so we are left to manage ourselves (as usual) with the added task of cleaning every night.
Since the robbery, we close at ten thirty, meaning that if we're lucky, we leave work by eleven thirty. If not, midnight.
These are the times I sincerely wish I was rich. They are few and far between, but not having to work until midnight seems like a pretty sweet deal.

Aunt Sally has begun the fall collection; white dishes in a box. I am excited now, more excited than I was before. I can't even wait to have this as my own place. My own room, for the first time in a long time at school. A kitchen, tables, chairs.
Fun.
Fall semester is shaping up.

independence

Are you proud to be an American?

Summer in Pictures

Muse

Dark sky, half moon gleaming above it, guides me home. Steering the bright lanes of the highway, windows down, I think, music turned up to distract me. There was so much to say then, words spilling somewhere, gushing. Somewhere in the translation, the words end, confused and garbled in the night. Here is my basic fear: that I will never be able to form my words into thoughts, to create something tangible and real. But then again, I think that this is the beginning of something different, and entirely new part of this life. I intend to think differently about it, waiting for it to happen and then embracing it. I mean, it might work out. Who knows?

The final leg.....

For every high, there is an equal yet completely opposite low.
I cried from Kansas City westward for a good hour, letting tears spill down my face with my windows rolled up. I sped past the trucks, other vehicles no doubt wondering what was happening inside that speeding steel box.
We left in good spirits, hugs all around, our belongings packed safely in the trunk. The weekend, which had begun with such a passion, although angry, had ended so well, smiles and my own feeling of contentment at spending a weekend curled in that space with the people I never thought I'd love the way I do.
We sat in St. Louis, sipping on white wine and watching the movie that Emily starred in last year, "American Gothic," I got a text message. One of our friends was hospitalized for the reasons that no person should ever put on themselves. My addled mind failed to wrap around it, until the next day. Things have settled down now, but there is still some sort of unease in the air. I can't explain it, don't want to. But I never thought that this sort of thing would be something I would ever have to face. It's not real, I kept telling myself, this isn't happening. But it was. It did.
The drive home was beautiful.
Exactly 866 miles in exactly 12.5 hours. Three stops. Rain at the beginning and at the end. I turned the music up and rolled the windows down. I wasn't exactly excited to come home, or to leave St. Louis, or even Chicago, but it was finally nice to get home and raid the fridge.
I'm garbled right now. My life is once again on the cusp of something new and different, and I can't even wait for junior year to begin.
Emily and I can't wait to start our new lives together.
Let the highs and lows (hopefully few) begin.

Summer in the City...

Even though the air has a chill to it, the apartment is still hot. Two couches, a card table, end tables, oddly spaced lawn chairs and bits and pieces of our various lives are scattered on the floor. A single lightbulb illuminates the room, casting a pall of darkness into it. The air is silent save the sound of gunshots echoing loudly from the television screen, the only source of noise in the otherwise still room. Blankets and pillows, remnants of the houseguests and various tenants of the quiet building on the street, such a quiet little oasis next to an industrial yard. Waking up in the morning, planes from Midway pass overhead, their jet streams searing sound into the air around the house. Pigeons stalk the balcony, the ever present battle for the grounds that have been theirs since before the boys moved in only a year ago. And yet, this has become like a second home to us, sleeping on the couches and in the beds, sleeping wherever there is room in an at times packed house. The shower is cluttered with our bottles, mingling with theirs, our pink towels, blue, and theirs brown and red. We drive to the beach, play football in the rain, run into the freezing cold waters of Lake Michigan, spend the nights living hard, partying for no reason other than the joy of the company that we share. Card games, laughter, the jokes speed out anew. We are for some reason caught in some strange bubble, with nothing left to hold us back. Two of us sat at the train station, on a crowded street, parked with our hazard lights on, blowing bubbles into the streets of Chicago. A cab driver passes, smiles at me and then asks me if he can have some. We smile, waiting for someone else to join this motley crew. We eat fresh cherries bought at a market on the South Side. We drive the streets, intermingling with the horns of angry drivers and the frustration that I feel in traffic. But there is nothing like the sight of Lake Michigan on your right and the city on your left as you drive up Lake Shore Drive, the epitome of the Ferris Bueller-esque ideals that perhaps we still hold on to. Waking early, we sought the addresses that we had penned earlier, scribbled notes in crayon on a used piece of paper. The phone rings, and the realtor is on the other end, begging to show us the house of our dreams. And we answer, there, arriving a moment late but not quite. She shakes our hands and then we begin the tour, our hearts melting a little at the sight of the quaint two bedroom apartment that I cannot wait to have my name signed to. And so, the adventure continues........

Roadtrip: Part 1

The alarm clock went off too soon. It was set for five a.m. Tuesday morning. The sun was barely peeking up, pink light overwhelming my eyes. I rolled over and slept until six.
I finally got on the road about seven, seven thirty after the obligatory gas refill somewhere on Colorado Blvd.
From there, it was no stopping until just outside of Limon, when I received a ten minute reprieve from the road courtesy of a Colorado State Patrol officer who issued me a warning. I had seen him coming up behind me and just pulled over before he had the chance. I think he appreciated that. I got a "Colorado State Patrol Official Courtesy Warning" for going "five to nine miles per hour over the posted limit."
He was a nice dude, so all went well.
I stopped for fuel before entering Kansas.
I stopped for fuel in the middle of Kansas.
I stopped entering Missouri.
I arrived thirteen hours after leaving my house.
It was nine fifteen when I pulled up in front of the Bates' household.
The sunset was absolutely beautiful. It pushed me through the last good hour of light of the drive. Behind me was the glowing orange sun, set in pink clouds, and ahead of me was the full moon, large and low in the sky.
Emily hobbled out of her house on crutches and we hugged.
We spent that night doing the usual....slept late yesterday morning. Had dinner. Went and visited her dad. Sophisticated, sort of. We watched John and Kate Plus 8 while waiting for him to get home and then we all shared a bottle of wine.
Got home. Stayed up with friends. Locked my keys in my car. Fished them out with a hanger or two. Felt incredibly productive. Slept in.
Emily got her cast off today.
And we are leaving this afternoon for Chicago. late start however, it's already 2:15 and we are not even close to leaving.
ah, summer.
This was a good choice.

Road Trip

I leave tomorrow on the twelve and a half hour journey that will end in Saint Louis. From there, on Friday, we progress to Chicago.
Apartment hunting (for real, this time).
Fun with Emily.
We shall see how things go.

7th Avenue. Late

Two people, up ahead in the bike lane, hold hands, walking slowly. They're quiet, whispering maybe, maybe silence is the only thing between them. A biker rides past and they shift, she is suddenly uncomfortable with the bike lane. It doesn't feel right, she thinks, walking in the middle of the road. She is reminded from a scene in a movie. No cars pass. He reassures her that everything is going to be alright, and she smiles, and moves in a little closer to him.
The world is empty, waiting for them to get to their destination. Off in the distance, trees bend and sway in the wind, cars drive off to their destinations, sirens call out urgency, but for this street at this moment, things are quiet, even and restless all at the same time.
It's like day, she thinks, as her eyes adjust to the night, with more shadows and more peace. There is nothing to fear, she thinks. They walk on, not stopping at the empty intersections, stop signs begging motorists to end their increase of speed.
They walk. It's quiet between them. They walk on. Her sandals hit the ground, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack.
It's late. The lights of the convenience store beckon, almost unwelcome in the night. They enter, swiftly, then exit the same. They are headed home now, carrying their purchases between them. The quiet is the same. The night is raw and beautiful. Come tomorrow it will have been forgotten for the happenings of another busy day.

Loyola again.

Summer is here and gone, almost.
We're halfway through June already.
I leave next Tuesday for the drive to Saint Louis. From there, we have no plan except to end up in Chicago for awhile and then back to Saint Louis. Emily was supposed to get her cast of the 17th, which is the day I leave, but instead, she'll have to keep it on. We'll have a wheelchair for her, so that will make things interesting and hopefully easier in Chicago.
I registered for classes. My schedule looks like this:

Fall 2008: 17 Credits
Monday:
11:30-12:30 MWF
ENGL 362 Studies in Poetry (3 credits)
Dumbach 228

1-2:15 MW
THTR 111 Introduction to Ballet (2)

Tuesday:
1-2:15 TuTh #3977
CMUN 227 Social Justice/Communication (3)

2:30-3:45 TuTh #2087
PHIL 174 Logic (3)
Damen 238

4:15-7:45 Tu #5293
CMUN 222 Introduction to Cinema (3)
CS 400

Wednesday:
11:30-12:30 MWF
ENGL 362 Studies in Poetry (3)
Dumbach 228

1-2:15 MW
THTR 111 Introduction to Ballet (2)

2:45-5:15 W #4558
ENGL 310 Advanced Writing: Autobiography (3)
Damen 237

Thursday:
1-2:15 TuTh #3977
CMUN 227 Social Justice/Communication (3)

2:30-3:45 TuTh #2087
PHIL 174 Logic (3)
Damen 238

Friday:
11:30-12:30 MWF
ENGL 362 Studies in Poetry (3)
Dumbach 228

It's not great, but it's not horrible and it's more credits than I need. I'm majoring in Communication (declared), and then minoring in Journalism, English and Women's Studies. The pickings for classes weren't great, especially since it's now June, but I didn't do so bad.
I'll be back sometime before the end of June. The drive is going to be intense, so we'll see how the car does.
I was going to maybe live in the dorms as a backup option, but they've already put someone in the room that I was going to occupy and now they're telling me there's a waiting list or something. Also, apparently, I should have turned in a housing contract. I enjoy this time of the year, really. No one is capable of telling you what you need to know until it's too late.
So, the apartment search, which had died off with the idea of dorm life, is back on, full force.

What if?

What if there is no such things as happily ever after?
Is it so wrong to think that there might be?
You want someone to love you unconditionally, for everything you are, and you want to love someone the same. What if it's one way or the other? What if there is no middle ground? What would you choose?
I can't tell which is worse...
***
As soon as I can get the pictures loaded, you can hear all about the vacation. And the getting home. And the sun. And everything. It was nice.
But now back to reality and back to the planning.
My next movement will be to St. Louis and from there, Chicago. I am mulling over visiting South Dakota this summer to see Lise.

Sitting in the car, headlights off, I watched the rain hit. Hit and then bounce up toward the sky again, falling over and over back to earth. Damp cold settled into our bones, causing the heat to be turned up.
Today dawned chilly but after little balls of hail had decided they were no longer welcome, the sun took over.
We talked on the phone today. "It's lonely here," she said. And I agreed. If this is what life will become for me, the endless agony of work stretched in between sleep, I would rather run as fast as I can in some other direction. Instead of hoping for the impossible, dreaming of things and people I can't have, I'd like to not have this life, but instead trade it for the one I always wanted, never thought possible, in dreams, make them reality, but changing the way I act and do, speak and think, and then one day, maybe I'll be in charge of a life I'd like to be living instead of this one that includes the bills and the torture and the endless cycle of work, sleep, work, sleep, no laundry has been done in weeks, nothing cleaned. I work my way around piles, and care so little, because there is no point in the organization. No point to the stuff, to the bother, to being on time.
It's refreshing to no longer care, yet heartbreaking at the same time. The end of summer cannot come soon enough, with its change and hopefully new scenes and faces. I hope for the one constant, I dare not speak aloud, and keep my fingers crossed that fate will look upon me kindly for once.

"Time and chance stand still for no man, or woman." -Karleen Koen

Lighting.

Spring is ushering in summer, hot and cloudy, full of temper at being roused so early. The storms will cease eventually, but for now, the colors of the afternoons are the colors that people only dream of seeing.
Purples, golds, greens echo through the line of sight, and the browns sink into the dark clouds, strange lighting finding peace in the twilight.
I've been struggling to get ahold of my emotions lately, time is just speeding right on by. I feel like I just moved home a month ago, and here it is, May.
Danny coming back has been difficult. We're trying to be friends, but the whole love thing is getting in the way. He doesn't understand why I don't love him anymore, and I can't explain that I just fell out of love the way that I was in love with him. There's a friend-love there, but not a love-love, and that distinction is hard to make.
The excitement of being in Chicago has worn off, but I never realized how much I missed it until I went back. Now, my sole focus is the end of the summer and getting there. Getting there. Back to Chicago, land of cold winds and cold hearts, Loyola, and free-flowing liquid delight. Let's go. Let's go. I can't wait. I don't know why. It'll be a fresh start. Hopefully.
And then I'll be able to get on with my life and feel alright again.

Summer

And so in the warm rain we ushered in the summer, a little early, never too late.
I sat there, in the dark basement I've watched change since we met, and was at home. We talked of old days and of the new, there is no amount of time that can come between us when we are not just summer friends, closer when May approaches June.
The drive home, in the cool night air, windows down, music up, was immense. No other cars on the road, just me and the night, speeding slowly home. I set the cruise control, just for fun, so that I could just be in the night. I was sixteen again, fresh with ideas, taking the turn to the song, letting the music take me elsewhere.
The lights in Denver have begun their countdown, a simple way of informing pedestrians of their impending restriction, and at night, the countdown simply hits zero and reverts back to the little light man walking. I found myself timing it so that as I drove, I'd be crossing the intersection as the change occurred, the ultimate end leading back to the same beginning.
There is nothing better than the promise of summer, no matter what life is holding for you at the moment, standing outside in the night and smelling the air will change your life. Floral scents intermingle with the city's hot fresh air and the animals of the night seem to be more alive.
We saw a skunk mosey past, on his way somewhere fast. As I drove away into the night, rolling down the windows, I passed the skunk again, still running, still on the street, getting somewhere.
We're all getting somewhere, even if we have no idea where we are.

Wal-Mart Prank.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=YAvspZ16pFQ

Mom is so in love.

Blue Album.

You cant resist her.
Shes in your bones.
She is your marrow, and your ride home.

You cant avoid her.
Shes in the air.
[in the air]
And in between molecules of oxygen and carbon dioxide.

Only in dreams, youll see what it means.
Reach out our hands.
Hold on to hers.
But when we wake, its all been erased.
And so it seems... only in dreams.

You walk up to her.
Ask her to dance.
She says hey baby, I just might take a chance.

You say its a good thing.
That you float in the air.
[in the air.]
Up where theres no way I will crush
Your pretty toenails into a thousand pieces.

Only in dreams, youll see what it means.
Reach out our hands.
Hold on to hers.
But when we wake, its all been erased.
And so it seems... only in dreams.

Only in dreams.
Only in dreams.
Only in dreams!
Only in dreams!
Only in dreams!
Only in dreams.




That song sums it all up. I want to be back in Chicago with the people that I love.

Shenanigans.

The sunlight was pouring steadily in through the windows as we settled in for sleep after the night. I was tucked in on the couch, blissfully unaware of what was happening to the rest of our companions. The night had started out uneventfully enough, Emily and I went to see "Baby Mama," a new comedy out last night. Flip flops and shopping led to the purchase of a new swimsuit at the Gap, which will be debuted on our upcoming cruise. From there, we went home, visited friends as we watched old sitcom reruns in the dorm. Midnight, the boys showed up with my bag, brought from their house, and we all piled into a cab for the party. The night was eventful, quiet and wild, conversations, books, drinks flowing freely around us. We stood on the balcony, myself wearing a fake fur coat, jeans, and a black Oxford all borrowed from Emily's closet.
Four a.m. brought the need for food, and we jumped into a cab and then went back to the dorm. Standing on the quiet street, in the middle of a busy city hushed, we spoke of plans.
And so four of us, Emily, Ian, their friend and myself, left Hunter to find his way home and we went to the packed Tempo Cafe for omelettes. We ate, and finally, tired with the hours spent awake, decided to turn to bed. The boys left us and Emily and I rode the elevator up in silence, exhaustion setting in. I curled up on the couch, blanket and pillow, and sunlight.
Thursday night found the four of us, Ian, Hunter, Emily and I all playing improv games at the boys' apartment. Emily and Ian met me at the airport, after a difficult plane trip, I was more than ready to be back on solid ground. I sat next to a woman wearing Star Warsesque boots, and we talked and talked. She told me to tell my mom that she was lucky to have a daughter like me, and that if I was ever in Boulder, she wanted to take me out for coffee. It was a bumpy ride, though, the plane lurching and jerking around. I slept fitfully, curled into my stuffed alligator.
Thursday was nice, ended with a movie and the four of us sprawled around on various couches or pull out beds. Emily left for class in the morning after I hit the snooze on Hunter's alarm. I went with the boys to their acting group, the sun beating down all around us. 80 degrees, a summer dress, flip flops...we were delayed by my sickness, an acute moment in which I was unable to keep anything down. I sat in the park, just off Michigan avenue, in a quiet little grassy enclave. The bench I sat on was surrounded by tulips and a little bird came and sat next to me for awhile. It was a beautiful day.
We walked to Portillo's and had a late lunch, then separated, running off into the hot rain of the city. I had walked barefoot from the south loop to the north loop and then nearly back, my feet dirty but happy to be back in the city that I love.

Oh yeah.

I'm going back tomorrow. I just can't stay away.
Bryan from the frame store stopped my car today and handed me a Bob Dylan CD. sweet.
Have a good weekend!!!!!
I'll be partying in Chicago. Expect a sweet blog soon! Also, it's supposed to be warm.
On a sadder note, I have to go to the dentist tomorrow. :(
Shots. Needles. Pain. Arrghghgh.
Mom can't go with me. It's lame.

Big Thanks.

Aunt Jan lucked out when she married Uncle Mike. Seriously.
She'll always have someone around to do the heavy lifting, fix the plumbing, and most importantly, haul her around. (not my words, his.)
He married into what would become a pretty large family, and was forced to give up his birthday for me the year I graduated. Lame. I know.
Well, Uncle Mike, this one's for you.
This year, in a terrible karmic retribution, I am forced to give up not only my birthday but a concert as well to watch a bunch of high school seniors trot across a stage in matching robes.
Come the end of summer, someone will have to haul Mike somewhere in Colorado, depending on where he decides to go to school. No biggie.
I, of course, chose something a little bit difficult, and with us not having anyone to do the heavy lifting around the house, the situation was conferred upon by the family and a decision was reached.
Uncle Mike hauled me all the way to Chicago, sat through a breakfast in which I'm pretty sure he thought I would never stop crying, and then drove home. But he did get to see the Cubs. It was awkward. Mike and Brian and little Mike sat there eating and I sat there bawling. Not having been around teenage girls in awhile, I'm sure they were scared.
So this year, I'm hauling myself out. Uncle Mike, I'm sure I'll miss you and I'm sure I'll appreciate the long haul you guys made even more than I already do. I was too busy crying to even think about anything but the imminent end of my life. (which actually didn't end right there)
I was telling Danny that I was going to blog about Uncle Mike and he started laughing. He loves you guys, for some reason I think he likes you the best. You're yin and yang. It's nice. But I told him that Aunt Jan will read this and then yell "Michael! Michael!" and make him come read it. He laughed a little harder after that.

The Return.

I opened the refridgerator this morning and there sat, untouched, a blueberry pie. I have my suspicions as to its origin, but I am eating it, regardless of the fact that it stayed in our house untouched for a period of some hours and may be poisonous. It doesn't taste poisonous at all.

The weekend ended with a bang, as dawn fell over the city Tuesday morning, we fell asleep cradling sweet dreams. Three hours later, the alarm he'd set for me went off, jarring me from what seemed like thirty seconds of sleep. The trek to the airport included wild conversation, a recap of the weekends events, the boys carrying my bags for me during that six block hike. The hugs, the smiles, I walked down into security with a smile on my tired face. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled hair, wearing the same clothes I'd worn the night before during our adventures through the city. I didn't want to leave, spent the last minutes before the departure slowly sipping Gatorade and nibbling on a PowerBar, attempting to ease my tired stomach.
Danny and I have discontinued our relationship at my request. I no longer wish to be with someone that I no longer love.
The same feelings I had at this same time last year, and the same person nonetheless, are back and making me realize I'm not settled in yet, it's not quite right. Something is waiting for me, but not him.
I told Danny we weren't going to talk this weekend, that this was my time for myself, as the last few weeks have been rocky. Hunter took my phone and told me not to worry, they'd all make sure I didn't have to think about Danny once the entire time I was there. I smiled and didn't think of Danny once.
Saturday, in the crowded dorm room, the music loud, drinks flowing, people in and out of the door at all times, he pulled me into the space that had been cleared for dancing and we did just that. The dancing became a frenzy, the room engrossed. Arms flailing, legs moving wildly became the norm. Girls and boys on the table, the couch, dancing, girls and boys standing in the kitchen, sipping. The song ended and he kissed me. I couldn't hide the smile. Last year, it was perfect, but he had her. Last semester, we hung out, but he wouldn't because of Danny.
Now something is telling me that maybe being alone won't be so bad; I'll be alright.
For Emily and I, this was a wonderful time. We picked up right where we had left off, making plans and being us. I didn't realize how much I missed her. We reminisced about last year, how it didn't really begin until second semester. We went up to see Sarah, taking the train an hour and a half north to meet her at the station. She picked us up and it was strange to be back together. A string of curses slipped form her mouth and I realized that motherhood hasn't changed her much. Sarah lights up around her baby, a beautiful seven month old girl, and the baby, clutching Cheerios, smiles back. It's a wonderful thing.
I even miss Ian, who I never thought I'd even enjoy. We sat and talked for hours, and at one point, he was leaning against th elevator doors when they opened and he fell to the floor. My laughter came back this weekend, my smile, my peace.
We're all going to look for apartments in two weeks when I get back. We're going to try and live "Friends" style, with the girls in one apartment and the guys in the other, hopefully in the same building. If not, there's the possibility we'll end up mushed together somewhere in the cheapest place we can find. It'll be wonderful.
Luckily, I missed one of the coldest winters in years. So that'll be nice. I'm going back in two weeks, plane tickets saved for Portland now saved for Chicago, reservations made.

Cutting Loose

The rain was falling down, cold all around us, soaking through our hair and into our skin. I stood there, hefting my bag, crying a little.
There are so many loose ends left in Chicago, so many people I've met, so many faces. Last night, the party erupted, a loud mass of people clamoring in a crowded room. I met his eyes throughout the night, smiling. "I missed you. Things just aren't the same without you." Repeated. It was comforting.
I'm in the middle of attempting to extricate myself from the mess of a relationship with Danny; things aren't going so well. He won't let me go, and I'm too weak to know how to just cut the final strings. I am going to attempt to change my plane reservations so that I can come back to Chicago to find an apartment or something. We're so good together, but he's starting to be upset that I try to have other friends and another part of my life.
We'll see.

Hunter and Ian are throwing a party in my honor tomorrow night in CHICAGO! I can't even wait.
Also, my life is a mess.

I was born on a Wednesday

The world changes on Tuesdays. September 11th was a Tuesday. Columbine was a Tuesday. I remember only because when Dad picked us up from school and told us, I thought he was trying to tell us that something had happened to Mom. Tuesdays. Miserable. Worse than Mondays. Lives are shaped, molded, changed forever on Tuesdays.
And this Tuesday was no different than the rest. Phone calls were made, emails exchanged, desperation. I didn't cry, not once, although I should have. Maybe I will. Someone reneged on a promise, left me in the cold, left me to live alone next year in a city I don't know well enough to navigate by myself.
And so the decision was made for me. In case you weren't aware, the first college that ever rejected me was Lewis and Clark, by my own fault at not sending the paperwork in rapid succession. That time delay, the time I so very much needed, cost me a future with someone I care about. Well, at least an academic future. And so, this fall, I believe I will embark on an adventure yet to be known as "Chicago, the Second Time Around and Just Maybe this Time, Things Will Work Out."
Take care of Mom for me next year, please, make sure she doesn't get too lonely in the house. Buy her plane tickets to come see me, or me tickets to see her. Tell her how much you love her and don't let her get sad. It sounds strange, but I'm scared to leave her, really. I'm starting to tear up, something I haven't done all day. It's been a nice semester. I get to see her everyday, for the most part, and I get to talk to her and hang out with her and go see movies with her. People think I'm weird, but I love her so much. It's nice to be at home, and to get to sleep in my own bed, something I probably won't ever do after the end of this summer. I'll be gone, out on my own, living the life I probably won't even enjoy, educating myself, paying with someone else's money for a degree that cost too much, too much time, too much money, too much heartache, too many tears.
There's no place for me, except home, but I can't stay here forever. I hate to say that; I hate to go back to Chicago, but something is telling me why not. Just go for it, just do it, get it over with. Be done, be educated, be a functioning member of society.
I was denied a credit card today. Apparently, to get credit, you have to already have credit.
Once again, I was reminded how mediocre I am. It's a thought that has been haunting me lately, I've been brooding about it now for years, but I always held onto the thought that maybe I'd find something I'd be great at. Spring break brought hints by others that I should just become a teacher, something I would never deign to do. No offense, I'm not quite tough enough to teach, I wouldn't be fulfilled by it; I would be left frustrated, unsatisfied, exhausted and annoyed.
That's what I am now. All of it, and then some. I am terrified of the future, of what I can't do, what I should have done, what I'll never do.
And before the rest of my life begins, I have to kill two more years in Chicago, all so I can get a job, make money, get married, procreate and then expire. Great. All of it. Great.
What did you want to do before you settled into your lives of mediocrity? What was your great ambition?
Will I ever get to see mine fulfilled?

endnote: This was an embarrassingly melodramatic post, to your minds, I'm sure. I apologize. There's no other outlet than the comfort I find in making the pretense that no one reads this. And once you have, and are unsatisfied, feel free to inspect your own ambitions and then realize that no one ever gets exactly what they want. Sacrifices must be made for the sake of society, and this is mine. Chicago. To you, it's a city. It's a school. I should go. To me, it's endless torture, much like any other school, any other city, any other place. I can't settle, for now. I'm restless and it must end. So it is. Chicago. 2010. And then, wherever my life will lead.
And the many plane tickets, airports, car rides in between.

spring break

It was the best spring break ever. We went snowboarding, played soccer, climbed trees, drank tea, drove around, watched movies, made like eight runs to Target, held hands and fell in love again.
There is nothing worse than losing someone you love, even if they haven't gne far.

Spring break

As always, all good things must come to an end.

Untitled and Unfinished.

He wasn't the same when he came back. Something had changed inside of him, but she wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was the way he jumped every time a car backfired in their little neighborhood, with its tidy houses and small front lawns, the aura of the creditors ever looming overhead. Maybe it was his conscientious manner toward time and the way that when he kissed her goodbye in the morning he always reminded her that he would be back at "seventeen hundred hours." She didn't care.
As soon as the rickety screen door has slammed shut, and she'd heard the engine of his pickup start, she would move to where she kept her journals, and with the baby safely away napping in the small second bedroom, she'd write. Not about anything in particular, just this and that. The weather, sometimes, or her mother, or that today the baby walked or giggled just a certain way. A mother's journal, she had called it, at the time when she imagined herself to be a mother in the best sense of the word, with the whole world waiting for her, accepting her.
But he was gone when she'd had the baby, alone in that tiny hospital bed, eyes squeezed tight, imagining that there could be no worse pain than this. And when she had laid eyes on their little son, she had melted, and then been afraid.
Who would take care of her now that she had another life in her hands? He wasn't due back for another year. He came back early, though, when the child was nine months old, hit in the legs and arms by shrapnel. He'd been in the hospital for awhile, and walked with a stiff right leg, but other than that, physically, he was in good shape.
He'd walked off that airplane and her heart had skipped a beat. They'd been high school lovers: she, the cheerleader, cocky with her blond hair swaying over the pleated blue and white skirt; he, the basketball jock, strong, lean, ready to compete. They'd gotten pregnant their senior year, the accident they never saw coming, the promise of a future together stronger than their knowledge of reality. They'd been married, after graduation, in her family's backyard, with the preacher there and her family. His father, an ex-Marine, had given his son enough help to buy a little house for the his young bride and their unborn child.
He'd gone off to war, just like his father had done when he had been in the same situation years before. "It never matters who you're fighting," he'd told his son, "just that you're there." She'd been upset at the decision, but with the false hope of a future ahead of them, she'd relented and finally let him sign the papers.
He was whisked away, gone to train to be a man while she grew ever larger around the middle and the glow around her made her soul shine. It was her destiny, her mother had whispered around the table at one dinner. That sole support for young daughter had never faltered, not even in the face of the shoppers at the local Wal-Mart who had sneered when they had seen the captain of the cheerleading squad buying baby outfits, essentials, cream to ease the stretch marks growing on her perfect belly. The piercing that had once graced her belly button had been discarded in favor of the newer, older, motherly look that she fought so hard to attain. Her hair fell in a soft bob, her makeup no longer looked teenage, but now applied as though she no longer cared. She did. She cared so much. She wanted so much.
He came home and she thought they'd be a family. She never realized that he wouldn't be able to hold her in her sleep the way he had once done. He picked at his food, his humor stolen from hsi body by the dry desert air. He no longer kissed her, picked her up and danced with her. He wasn't the man she'd married, but he was the father of her child, and so she'd stick it out.
One night, they got into a fight and he slapped her. It had been about something silly, a dish out of place on the drying rack she had so carefully arranged. It had crashed to the floor, causing cries of distress from their son, seated in his high chair. He'd reacted to the incident as though it had been her fault, that somehow she was to blame for the mistakes in his life.
She'd cried herself to sleep alone that night, while his new residence became the couch.
She loved him, she kept repeating in her mind. This was the man she'd married.
His father had set him up with a job at the local supermarket, where he scanned groceries for ten hours a day. It paid little, simply enough to keep the bills at bay and food on their little table.
Things were fine, for awhile. He had been genuinely happy to see her, with blond hair and that smiling face, pretty for him. He had wanted to see their child, something he had always dreamed of but had never told her. When he met them, there in the airport, he had felt so calm. He didn't understand the change that was taking him over, the way he no longer cared to see her, to talk to her, to hold his son and make him smile.
It started out very small, little things, here and there.
A jar of baby food off the conveyor, before the bagger had even seen it was there. The customers almost never noticed. He'd whisk the item away from their eyes; besides, he had the speed that no clerk had ever seen before. Twice as fast as the other cashiers, his days flew by in a blur of frozen meats, deli items, milk, butter, cheese, toilet paper, bread, eggs. He'd bring his little treasures home, sometimes to share them with her, and sometimes not.
It worked out for some time. He enjoyed the sensation it gave him, a little therapy never hurt anyone was his thought. This couldn't be worse than those kids he saw who rode their bikes in and just left them, forgotten, by the front of the store. They reeked of weed, buying chips and soda with no cares in the world. Certainly, this wasn't a crime. Not like that. The old women glared at the kids as they did that, no one had ever been that reckless in their time.
He agreed.
It was the end of summer, golden light falling everywhere and trees showing hints of the tragedy about to befall them, changing colors and falling off their branches, and he had gone to work with no intention of anything happening. He had been trying to curb the habit lately, but he couldn't bear to do so.
Fifteen minutes later, his final paycheck in hand, he exited the job he had grown so accustomed to. He deposited it in the bank, and went home to find his wife and son laying on their sides in the little living room, laughing as though something was indeed funny. He smiled at them, picked up his young son and kissed his wife. Suddenly, something had changed. He felt a little more free than he had when he had walked into that stern looking grocery store.
The phone call came a few minutes later. "Fired?" Screamed his father, irritated beyond belief. "I put my reputation on the line so that you could have that job! And you betray me? Stealing?" The screams continued, and he settled the receiver against his shoulder. "...served this country....better man....raised you right..."
The door opened, and his father stood there, filling it's little form, leaving no doubt as to his intentions. "We'd better have a talk."
They disappeared behind the house, walking through the fields that he would have preferred to be working instead of the grocery store. Maybe he would try and see if the local farmers would be willing to let him drive a tractor, or help with the upcoming corn harvest.
The truck drove away, eventually, leaving her alone with their son, waiting for him to walk through the back door, sullen and annoyed. It grew dark, and he had still not reappeared. She walked out back and called for him, his name echoing slightly in the dust.
She waited, figuring that he must be brooding. She fed herself and the child dinner, and by bedtime, when he had still not come back, she called the sheriff.
It didn't take them long to find his body.
He had been shot once, at close range, with the same sort of handgun his fathered owned. It hadn't been drawn out, or painful, instead, quick and angry. The physical evidence overpowered any statement his father tried to make, protesting innocence as he was booked into the county jail.
The trial was quick, and the young woman, now older than her years, sat next to her mother, who held the child. She'd waited so long for so little, and the tears fell as she realized it had all been for the little boy sitting next to her, munching on cereal and smiling. He had never meant any of it, not the fights, the criticism, the slamming of the little screen door daily. He had left her a letter, written before he went to war, in which he expressed his deep gratitude for the presence in his life, the way she made him so much more. She cried, silently,her soul ripped apart and his father felt no remorse.

Brother Ali-The Truth is Here

"You don't give money to the bums
on a corner with a sign bleeding from their gums
Talking about you don't support a crackhead
What you think happens to the money from your taxes?" -Brother Ali, "Uncle Sam Goddamn"

The venue filled quickly, time passing, people milling around, drinking, counting down the minutes until the show would start. People passing around a pipe were welcomed with a visit from the large men standing guard over the patrons of the tiny place. We wiggled our way into the front, while there was still wiggle room, and from there, we proceeded to watch the show unforld before our eyes. The lights dimmed, the DJ started spinning and the opening act took the stage. Toki Wright, I swore I had seen him before, and suddenly my mind settled on it. Paid Dues. July, last summer. He was the middle act, rocking Red Rocks with a cloud of weed smoke billowing up from the crowd. We waved around, a little, timid as the first act goes. Red Bull in our hands, dark black permanent markered x's on the backs, showing our age. The show filled in fast, and Brother Ali took the house down. In between the beginning and the finale, Abstract Rude took the stage. It was insane. We danced, jammed in between the back of the front of the theater and the masses of people around us. By the time it ended, we were sweating and exhausted, and the journey home proved just as difficult. A few wrong turns and some adventurous maneuvering left us somewhere north and somewhere west. Empty warehouses and tire stores lined the street, houses, small and crumbling, cars littered everywhere. It was one of the best nights I've had this year.
"Colorado is more than a bunch of snowboarders and people getting high." -Brother Ali, while promoting a local act.
I should mention that Brother Ali is an albino Muslim rapper. He spent a few minutes telling the crowd how beautiful he feels when he wakes up. It's obvious that he's comfortable in his own skin. He's a bit political, but not overly so, and thoroughly enjoyable.

Reminder

I open the cloth duffel bag and there, lying on the top of my hastily stuffed belongings, sits a book of his I borrowed and a small stuffed wolf he gave me after the crying fit. It smells of his cologne, a present from me, and it stings my nose now, a cruel reminder of how he lingers even when he's gone. The smell will fade and soon the wolf will smell like nothing spectacular, fitting into the collection of animals discarded places from childhood, too special to give away.
I call him and he answers. It's never quite the same and we both know it. Standing in the airport yesterday, I asked the usual question: "Do you want to talk tonight?" Of course. We talk every night. But we both know we wouldn't have to ask it if we weren't a thousand miles away.

Danny

We came up with the idea as the day was fading away. We grabbed a blanket and supplies from the house and stopped to pick up charcoal from the grocery store. Armed with our meager provisions, we watched the sun fall from the sky as we set ablaze tired leaves that had never left their iron home after falling before winter. The temperature quickly dropped, breathing hints of the snow that was to follow down on us. We waited until the coals lay softly and the fire had nearly gone out and then together we layed the tin foil down and then the hot dogs.
Katie joined us, too.
We had pineapple, chips and hot dogs, and somehow it was the best impromtu barbecue in the world.
Tonight, we sat at airport, and now he's on a plane home. We got 75 degrees and then snow, and it was one of the best weekends of the year.

Two Weeks Notice

It's over. The long love affair, and not so much, with Dairy Queen has ended. I am putting in my two weeks notice tomorrow.
Poor or not, I will not be subjected to disrespect.
There are management issues now, things I never thought would happen. The daughter of the owner commits her fraud quietly, leaving us to suffer.
Tonight, I was sent to 120th and Huron to do their dirty work. I mopped, swept, and lost all respect for all of them when they tried to short me on the cash they had promised me.
March 10th will be my last day.

Summer dreams.

February is a month to forget, for the most part. The Portland trip was fun. I didn't take any pictures, but he did take me down to the waterfront. The river that runs through Portland is dirty and reminds me of the Chicago river, but there's something beautiful about it. Bridges span it and boats churn their way slowly up and down it. I was cold, shivering in my jacket. We walked there, and then walked through downtown for a little while before catching a train out.

I can't help but wish for summer. I'm happier then, carefree, not cold. Even though it's only two and a half months away, so much has to happen between now and then. Dentist visits, school, work, time can't go fast enough.

Highways....

I touched the accelerator, easing left and flying past the car in front of me. The music was comfortable, loud and vibrant, yet not so much so that my ears started to complain. The car seems to enjoy it, being driven. It hugs curves like it knows that I'm pushing it faster; it likes the unspoken need to compete. As I enter Denver, driving past Mile High, the highway makes its beautiful curves and I speed up. Going the speed limit or just above, enough to avoid the police presence I so dread has been too easy for the car. I nosed it above 90 right oustide of Ft. Collins, not daring to hit 91. I slowed, letting the car ride along on the windy road at the speed limit, no, two miles above. 77 set the pace for the drive. I felt at peace then, Denver surrounding me, the mobile public around me. The traffic flow didn't slow, but the volume increased, and I found myself surrounded by them too. I was at peace, then, for the first time in too long. I breathed a sigh, in the one place I can call my own. When I got home, I pulled into my little parking spot in front of the house, marked out of the snow. I stayed there for a few minutes, listening to the music and just sitting. I am comfortable there. The car knows that.
I play my iPod on shuffle. It's a recent development. I used to just let it play the songs I knew, but lately I've been realizing that there's never too much time for anything, not even music. Let it play. You'll be surprised.
Also, have you checked your karma lately? Make sure you're on the good side of the world. A woman approached me last night as I sat in the car. She asked me in jest if she could have my hat, but I told her it was my boyfriend's and I think he might be a little upset if I just ran off and gave it away. She told me she wasn't going to rob me, and I laughed. "I've already been robbed," I told her. She told me to buy a gun and I laughed again, telling her I am against guns in all forms. Wouldn't war be less prevalent if we had to face the people we're about to cut down in the name of freedom? She told me she was trying to get seven dollars so a woman would watch her child. I smiled, "I'm just as poor as you are," I said, handing her a dollar. She told me I had a nice car, and I smiled. I do.
Everyone says, "They'll just spend it on drugs." So what if they do? What would you spend it on? It's a dollar. Whether or not you need it more than they do, and sometimes, trust me, I am pretty sure I need it more. But, here's the thing...They always say that what goes around comes around, and on the off chance that might be true, I want something good to come my way. Isn't that why you believe in God? On the off chance he's real? (My point is not that you should buy drugs with your money, it's that you would throw it somewhere else. Also, that was not an attack on religion by any means. I sometimes wonder if I'll be more religious someday.)
On July 7, 2007 Danny and I went dancing. It was the first night we ever held hands. That night, wearing a new dress, I went out, stopping at the gas station first. A woman there told me I was beautiful. I was, that night. She seemed ashamed, but that may have been an act, I'm not sure. She asked me for money, and feeling generous, I gave her all the cash I had on me, seven dollars. Now, you ask, what's the significance of that? Seven, on 7/7/07. Karma. Luck. Whatever. That night I got what I had wanted since the summer began. I held his hand.
Today was the 3rd day I've owned my car. I hit 33,333 forty miles before I arrived home. That has nothing to do with sevens. I'm just making sure you know where your karma stands.
Also, P.S. I Love You is a great movie. I cried buckets.

The Car

The car search began and ended this afternoon. After putting in a description of what we wanted: A Honda Civic, 2001-current, black, blue or silver, four doors, we waited a few days and received a response. It was Shoreline Mist, a grayish color-silver with a hint of something else. The something else was gold in early afternoon, blue as the snow feel, and steel as I pulled up and parked out front tonight. 2006. 33,000 miles. One owner. From Pueblo. It is beautiful. Once the snow has stopped, I'll post pictures of the interior and the exterior in better light. It runs beautifully. Acceleration is not a problem at all. Tight turning radius. Love. Lots of it.

Grandma Mary and Aunt Sally arrived to witness the show, seeing it, they expressed their approval. Sitting in the car on the way to AAA, Mom gave me a talk. She warned me that we may want to walk away, and not to let our emotions get the better of us. As we accelerated onto the highway, I believe that all thoughts of walking away left her mind. She agreed.

I, of course, have fallen in love.

Into February.

The first two days after he left were the worst I've experienced thus far. I realized how alone I really am in Denver. I have work and school to keep me busy, but nights are long and weekends stretch out forever.
I bought plane tickets that week, not knowing that the stress of what we were facing was about to tear us apart. As usual, he came to the rescue.
I'm settling in. Things are different.
Dairy Queen cut my hours because I am unwilling to work in Highland's Ranch. I'm in the market for a second job, one that will look better on a resume and will possibly give me a new direction. I want to keep the one I have now, and supplement my income.
I'm going to see him in a week. Friday morning, I'll be back on Monday morning. I am counting the days. I can't wait. I'm flying out early, I'll get coffee in downtown Portland and wait for him to get done with classes and then take the bus down from campus.

Education

The room is crowded, filled with students too young to know their baggy pants and greasy hair won't make them cool forever. They file in, walk up to the desk where a thin woman sits and complain about the wait time. Then they sit down. The young men wear baggy hooded sweatshirts and sit with hats cocked off the sides of their heads. The girls carefully applied thick makeup this morning rimming their dim eyes in dark lines and pulling on tight pants to impress their male counterparts.
The clock on the wall keeps track of the slow passage of time. Some of them shift in their seats, uncomfortable, clearly nervous, desperate to hide it so no one will notice. A thirty-something man sits with them, a student, returning back to school to get a degree.
A shrill voice complains to the two exhuasted looking students manning the desk. The thin woman has a pretty face, but is dressed in clothes very unbecoming. She struts around with a stack of papers in her hand, not realizing that she herself is just like the girls whose chairs line the wall. She flips her hair with her hand and smiles, trying to be authoritative while the kids' eyes glaze over.
Registration problems are the reasons these people crowd into the room that is seldom used otherwise. They whine and mope, complaining amongst themselves, finding solidarity in the anxious crowd.
Then a name is called. Attention is riveted toward the desk. They are no longer a group of misplaced youths.
They are hopeful; their eyes betray that much.

On with winter....

He left today, another traveller arriving at a destination. We cried in the airport, as usual, and when I got home, I realized I was alone for the first time in a month. Not alone as in having an hour or two to myself, but alone as in no one around. Katie is back in Ft. Collins. I don't know what to do with myself.
I only scheduled nine credit hours. There wasn't much available, and nothing much I wanted to take.
It's strange to know we won't be getting tea anytime soon or that I won't see his headlights pulling into my driveway. It hurts, actually.

Colorado Sunday

Inside this cold strange sanctuary I am comfortable.
I haven't stopped to breathe, yet, and I'm sure that once I do, I'll find myself in a position to be productive.

Home!

Here I am, home, breathing easy.
Mountains surround me, catch my attention as we drive.
Danny picked me up; as usual, it involved a little bit of running, a big smile and an even bigger hug.
Heat. No cold like Chicago here.
Morning bright and blue, no gray.
Days stretch on forever, time slipping away.
Ah, I start work tomorrow.
No bueno.
I don't own any more Dairy Queen clothes.
Danny's mom likes me.
I love their yellow lab Emma.
Katie and I got into our own set of mischief last night. It was nice, to be back doing the things we've always done.
Stella's tea.

Dear Mom,

There they were, sitting at the bottom of a box left over from freshman year: The stamps.

Censorhsip

I am careful of what I write, hesitant fingers hanging over plastic keys, begging to be stamped down and repeated, again and again, forming words with their movements, the sounds making steady music from it. Each letter comforts the next, the up and down and up and down becomes a constant rhythm. Yet, I hesitate. Stopping, dangling a word over the keys, their begging is silent, though, and I resist.
The readers checks them, stopping daily, weekly, as it pops us in their favorites. The words mean nothing to them. They stop and read, as though it's the daily newspaper. They do not realize they've been fooled. There is nothing here but empty words, spun out of boredom or the chance that maybe once I'll say what I'm thinking, what's poised on the edge of my brain.
I never stop wondering, thinking, realizing, dreaming, assuming, whatever. But when I sit down to play the symphony of these keys, my words float away from me in some angry tide of feeling and I am left with nothing.
I stare. White screen. Blank. The keys sit. Untouched. I think. No, that won't work. She won't like it. or. No, that won't work. They don't know what it is. I realize that for life to be a story, one must have an eager audience. No novel is woven out of words for the sake of hearing the symphony. It is only written because the conductor begs someone to listen or to understand. It is the hope, I think, the hope that someone will appreciate the keeps them typing aimlessly or purposely however they set about it. There has to be a goal, always is, even if it's self-awareness.
Only in the bound book, hidden in the secret places, stashed in a backpack, clasped between pale hands or tucked into a drawer are the secrets spilled out with ink.
Sirens squeal other stories outside this building in the heart of the city.
I sit, saying nothing, wasting energy for the reader to comprehend.
But all is not lost.

Love Love Lovely

"One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: That word is love." - Sophocles

"We love because it's the only true adventure." - Nikki Giovanni

"Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it, and it darts away." - Dorothy Parker

"Love is friendship set on fire." - unknown

***"Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it...It really is worth fighting for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk everything, you risk even more." - Erica Jong*** (I love this one.)

"Maybe love is like luck. You have to go all the way to find it." - Robert Mitchum

"Loves makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place." - Zora Neale Hurston

"Love is the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired." - Mark Twain

"Love is more than three words mumbled before bedtime. Love is sustained by action, a pattern of devotion in the things we do for each other every day." - Nicholas Sparks

"To love is to receive a glimpse of heaven." - Karen Sunde


And reading these, do you remember love?
Do you remember the butterflies in your stomach?
Seeing them, calling them, that first kiss.
Not even romantic love, just the love that it's possible to share for another person. I was pulling pictures off my wall the other day. There's me and Katie, smiling, sitting on her car when we were 16. There's me and Danny in his car on our last day of summer. There's me and Emily, on our road trip to Glenwood Springs. Your best friend, you mom, someone, anyone. There's enough to go around.
My first memory of perfect love remains a picture of a summer afternoon spent in a park, laying in the grass looking up into the trees. I took a picture then, I've posted it before. It's perfect. We held hands, our bodies not touching as we soaked up the sunshine, wasting a perfect weekend afternoon with each other. I thought then that this was something special, I had no idea where it would lead. I shifted, laying my head on his stomach, in a that questioning tense first touch. Now, I slip my hand into his and know that it's normal. It feels like home.
Too often, I think, we forget the little things that made us fall in love. The glint in his eyes when he looks at me, the way he makes me laugh, the long drives that we do early in the morning, it's these things that make me think that sometimes we let everything else get in the way of feelings.
Tonight, everything got the better of me, and for the fifth time in as many days, I found myself sniffling into the phone, in a foul mood, trying to pick a fight with him just to make myself feel better. And for the fifth time in five days, he came to my rescue, making me laugh, not letting me fight with him, not letting me think about what was wrong. He makes it better. He doesn't understand, he tells me that, but he tells me that no matter what, he'll listen to me and be there for me. He sympathizes, and sometimes that's enough. He talks to me until I'm calmer, until everything has fallen back into place. He does the cute things that have become the things we share between us. He gets to love me more today, so I let him, even though he doesn't. He couldn't.
So tell someone you love that you really love them.
Do it, and remember when you fell in love.
And save that feeling. It's that one that you just can't bottle up. You just have to try to keep it and hope it will never end.
Good luck.

oh and p.s. here it is....my favorite memory of the day I realized I loved him.

Take Care Packages

First box home today.
Two more lay packed on ready on the kitchen floor.
I am ready, ready, ready,
not at all.

One final done.
Four more to go.
Papers, papers, news story, papers, test, test.
Home.

I can't wait to get off the plane.
I can't wait to see him waiting there.
I can't wait to jump into his arms
and feel home.

Six days.

The train tonight.
I smelled the air,
pungent from below and
realized it was one day
closer to the last.

Time. Is. Slipping. Away.

Finals week begins.

Finals week begins.
I have two tests, one on Friday and another next Monday.
I also have one written final, one take-home writing portion of a test, three papers, and a final news story.
I packed my first box today. It is small and heavy, but I'm thinking that with a few more boxes, I'll be able to fit most of my things into the suitcases. I have gone through my wardrobe and found things that I do not wear as much as I should, and I am donating them before I leave so that I don't have to worry about bringing them home. I even donated that pair of jeans I've been holding onto. It's great, because I need to buy new jeans anyway, so getting rid of some will be nice. Also, Chicago has a much bigger homeless population than Denver.
So it works for everyone. I'm leaving the trashcan that I bought because no one wants to bring a trashcan home. And the giant posters will have to stay too. I don't know how I'm going to get my other posters home. I may just buy a poster roller thing....and then have that shipped out.

We were looking through Loyola's famous graduates last night and found one oddity among the bunch. An adult entertainment actress. I wonder what the school thinks of that. Also, the guitarist from 90s band The Smashing Pumpkins (!!!) and the lead singer from the heavy metal band Disturbed. I'll go and find the list and put it up.

Danny's dance recital is today. He was enrolled in Ghanaian Music and Dance, and thus had to learn a dance from Ghana, Africa. Today, he preforms it at some sort of festival at Lewis and Clark. He called me this morning, and we talked for awhile before he had to go. He's not sure he wants to be in Portland anymore, but to be honest, I think he just needs a break. He's been there since August with one trip home. I've been flying all around this semester, so it's been nicely broken up.
He just wants to get home and see me (!) which I can't wait for. He's picking me up at the airport on Monday. We're going to see the Botanic Garden's light show on Tuesday night, which I have never done. We drove by after Thanksgiving one evening to see if the lights were up, and he was shocked that I had never been.

I don't know how you feel about nature-esque television, but Planet Earth on Discovery channel has been wonderful. I watched a marathon of it yesterday as I sat battling some strange illness on the couch.

Ah, well, nothing important. High-stress situation.

It won't go, in case you don't know.....

"Stairway To Heaven"

There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying the stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying the stairway to heaven.

There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.

There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who stand looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.

And it's whispered that soon if we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn for those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter.

If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now,
It's just a spring clean for the May queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on.
And it makes me wonder.

Your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know,
The piper's calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow, and did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.

And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.

And she's buying the stairway to heaven.



****
And so, with tears streaming down my face too late on a Thursday, I begin the final week. Chicago, snow falling softly outside, lamp posts gently illuminating the streets below, freezing people.
I sit here, watching bad movies on tv, late at night. They came, we watched the game, and now they're gone, begging my presence at a party tomorrow night. I have no interest. Instead, I'll curl up at home and talk to Danny, because lately his voice has been the only one that calms me. I woke up last night, alone, and realized that everything is beginning to come together and fall apart all at once. I'm going ever closer to the thing(s) that mean the most to me, and further apart from the life that I've known.
I'm just at the point in between sleep and dreams.
Home. Danny. Home. Danny. I keep repeating them in my head. Colorado. Denver. Here I come, please.
Ten days.
We did Secret Santa gifts in our room today. I had Gena and Melissa had me. She got me a Long Distance Relationship book, which made me laugh.
Danny has agreed that if we get married, we'll have to take cooking classes. He prefers dessert classes and the idea of microwaveable frozen vegetables, whereas I feel as though it can't be that hard to make chicken dishes and noodle-y things. I burned brats today, and he found that funny. He told me not to worry; he'll cook. He can make: corndogs, hot dogs, frozen pizza, spaghetti. Wow, can't wait. haha, it was the first time I'd laughed all day though, and I appreciated it.
Love, then, love is enough.

The Post-Thanksgiving Update

Perfect snow.
I walked out of class tonight and was greeted by the beautiful sight of falling snowflakes.
Perfect snow, no wind, wet flakes falling down like confetti on the anxious people below. Night is softened by the lights on the trees.
There's nothing like snow and holiday lights, nothing at all.
Things here are being held together simply by will. There is no hope left for bringing things back to where they were; instead, I play the observer and try not to answer their questions about the others.
I have three more days of class left at Loyola, and while I won't miss the institution, I'm going to miss all of the people I've become attached to.
Hunter and Ian came over for Monday Night Football last night, and as they left, Hunter gave me a hug and told me he'd miss me. It's nice to know that there's always something to come back to.
Before I leave, I'd like to go and visit the Peace Garden on the Lake Shore path that winds all the way from the south side of the city to nearly Loyola. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays when I take the shuttle up to the Lake Shore campus, I always watch, and there, on the trail, just off Lake Shore Drive is a little enclave. I never see anyone there. I once saw a woman, sitting there and doing exactly what I would have been doing, contemplating. I still haven't been there, and it's the one thing that I want to do before I go.
I would also like to see the Bean. It's a work of art originally designed for the opening of Millennium Park and the things that the name implies. It's one of my favorite things in Chicago. (I'm sad that Mom and Grandma didn't get to see it while they were here visiting in October)
Other than that, however, I am only looking forward to being home and seeing the mountains again. This winter is going to be great. Danny wants to go snowboarding with me, which I'm unsure about. He's been snowboarding since he was eight, and I've only been three times in my life. When I told him that I'd be on the bunny hills while he would be doing the blacks and blues, he told me that he'd come with me and help me. Which was cute.

Thanksgiving was nice. Of course, my plans fell through for the actual day, in that between visiting Mom at the hospital and seeing Dad's family, we never made it to Aunt Jan's. Now, I know that it was a disappointment to all, but I also wanted to clarify that we were only going to have been there for about a half an hour, so although I felt bad, I didn't feel as though I missed an entire dinner.
Emma and John liked Danny a lot. Emma kept telling us that we had cooties because we were so in love, which made me smile. We built a city out of the blocks, and the kids kept asking him where to put certain things. We made a little corner of the city for a zoo, which we filled with all the toys that we could find. Emma told Danny that he was "the best skyscraper builder ever," and afterward, he admitted that he loved spending time with them. I got to hold the little one, who just made my whole day. Danny didn't want to hold her because he didn't want to upset her, which made me smile.
The drive up to his parents' house was nice. We had to stop because his windshield fluid was frozen and the windshield was getting dirty. I played the role of mechanic and washed his windows for him while he put in new fluid. It was a very domestic moment for us.
He has been suffering with all of the rain in Portland for the last week, so keep him in your prayers.
My application for Metro is in, and I've spoken with Dairy Queen about getting my job back ($10.50 an hour, hopefully more soon enough.)

That was quite a bit of information for one post, so I'll leave it at that. But I promise I'll begin to discuss the move soon.

Communication 228

I remembered last night at one a.m. Right as I was about to drift off into the first interrupted sleep in about a week, it hit me. Whatever it was that had been bothering me all week. I had known it was something, but I had no idea what. I was cranky and short-tempered, and here was the reason. A 6 page analysis of the Clinton-Lewinsky-Starr scandal. Due at 4 pm today.

But, thanks to my incredible luck and typing skills, I woke up at ten thirty and two hours later am done with searching the archives of TIME magazine, writing about the articles, and critiquing them for my paper.

Now onto the next assignment.
A feature story.