How Do you Judge a Friendship?

How do you judge a friendship? What decides whether or not a person is a real friend or someone who, in the long run, isn't really worth having as a friend, because they're not a good friend?
For one there are "situational" friends. They are your friend when it suits them, either because they want something from you or there is absolutely no one else for them to spend their time with, thus making you a last resort. It's easy to see why these people would not be considered good friends.
The most commonly talked about not-real friend is the "fair weather" friend. You all know who I'm referencing: Those people who will hang out and talk to you and be your friend only when you're happy, taking cover at the first sign of emotional distraught in your life. They are not good friends because when you need them most they are not there at all.
Then there's a third kind that you don't hear so much about, because they have a certain goodness about them that makes it so easy to overlook where they are lacking. These are the "foul weather" friends. I'm sure you've got a few. They're the friends that are around to help you out when you have problems and lend an ear to listen to you. They're the ones who care enough to stage an intervention when they think you might not be safe and they're the ones who will send you a message if they think you're sad. They're the worse ones of all.
Call me out on this one, I don't care. I'm a horrible person for judging such good people thus, and it's not that I don't appreciate them more than they'll ever know, but it's true. Their friendship is based in their worry for you, but if they're sure there's no need to be worrying about your emotional well-being where are they? Are they still talking to you? Are they inviting you to hang out? If they do invite you to hang out, do they treat you like everyone else that they are friends with, or do you just sit there, as if blocked off by a piece of glass, watching them interact with everyone and flirt with others, but leave you to be, because there's nothing wrong, so there's no real need for them to be a friend.
I'm a bad person for calling them bad friends, but think about what that does to a person. Knowing that the only time you'll have a friend in your life is when you're sad and on the verge of an emotional break down has a bigger impact than the initial fondness you may develop because they actually cared. It becomes oxy-moronic, in the sense that you might be sad because you feel invisible, and they come to your aide to assure you that they see you, but when you're happy, they don't see you. You don't exist anymore. So what incentive is there for you to be happy, knowing that when you are, you're not going to have anyone to talk to, because they only want to be your friend when they can help you with a problem. Some people may go so far as to invent excuses to be sad, just so they have someone to talk to.
Real friends see you in both "fair weather" and "foul weather." They don't act like you're not there because you're fine and they know they don't have to worry about you, and they don't run away at the first site of real trouble. So how do you find these friends? Hell if I know. The only thing I'm learning as I continue my education is that I don't really know much of anything, but maybe that's how it's supposed to be. *Shrugs*
If you're reading this, ask yourself what kind of friend you are in all of your relationships. Look at each person you "care" for and ask yourself, "Do I only care for him/her when he/she is down about something? Happy about something? Do I give him/her as much time when he/she is happy as I do when he/she is sad?" The first step to having great friends is by being a great friend yourself. Sadly, a lot of the people that are not good friends at all are surrounded by herds of fawning admirers and the people who really have potential are left to fend for themselves.
To end, I'm not a good friend. By thinking that I might do things right, I inevitably commit the greatest wrong, which leads back to my original philosophy that I really can't do anything right. Will I ever be happy? Sure. In that fabled "someday" I find myself unable to stop believing in I'll be a good friend who has, in turn, found good friends. But where I stand now, it's a little harder. Dealing with my own imperfections and failings is a tough thing for any person to deal with. So, yeah, I'm a bad person for posting this, but if I didn't say it, who would? Because I know you've all felt like this at least once in your lives. Maybe the biggest problem with the world today is that people are so afraid to state the obvious, like what really makes a good friend, in attempt to fix a few wrongs they might see. Maybe it is impossible for one person to change the world, but that doesn't stop us all from trying, does it?

Star Light, Star Bright...

Star light, star bright
First star I see tonight
I wish I may, I wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight.

And if I find that when I wake
This dream of mine you chose to take
In my heart I'll not forsake
This, the choice, that now you make.

For as I wish upon you, Star,
A hundred others here there are
Making wishes from afar
Upon your being, Lucky Star.

So who would I be to believe
That my wish I just must receive
And another be deceived
So all my fears I may relieve.

So now I know just what to ask
To bring some comfort to your task
And all your fears will go unmasked
As I've decided what to ask:

Star light, star bright
First star I see tonight
Grant another's wish, that's right,
And I'll sleep soundly through the night.

For now I understand, you see,
That all this time I've thought of me
When there was another soul unfree
That deserved their wish much more than me.


If I were smart, maybe I'd just stop wishing on stars, having gone so long with never a dream coming true. Above is a thought that gives me comfort, because by wondering if someday my wish will be granted, I'm at least assured something to always believe, no matter how far-fetched of a concept it may seem. So if you're sad because your heart is broken and it seems like your fondest dreams will never come true, remember that you're not alone, and take comfort in know that someday it will be your turn, too. You just have to find the strength and the patience to never let go of your hope, even in the face of darkness.
Sleep fondly, World. Don't forget about me as you rest in peaceful slumber and dream of what tomorrow may bring.
~Heather~

I'm Sorry

I'm such a bad person for making the world worry about me! I offer my sincerest apologies to all who were scared for me. I promise I'm okay. It's such a new thing to have people who acknowledge my existence and actually care about me... Thank you, though. Thank you for caring. You can't imagine how much it means to me. I'll say one thing, however, and be very blunt about it. I promise I'll never try to take me life. You can trust me: I don't break my promises. Besides, it's not really my life to be taking, now is it? ^_~
All the love in the world,
~Heather~

The Beach

Close your eyes and you'll see it:

Where the horizon of the ocean kisses the face of the sky the sun sinks lower, its stretching arms painting the hues of sunset across the cloud-dappled blue. A giant half-circle of orange, winking at the unsuspecting evening-dweller.
Just down the beach, huddled strangely beneath the golden warmth of the sun, sits a girl. Her back is towards you and her body shakes convulsively. Curious, you move to see what is wrong. Her hair is chin-length, cut ruthlessly short and uneven, as if she herself took a knife to her fragile locks and severed them so mercilessly. From her eyes, swollen with sorrow, tears fall unceasingly, wetting the sand that clumps at her feet. You kneel down in front of her and set your hand on her shoulder, but she does not look up. She simply continues with her strange, seemingly meaningless task.
You cock your head, watching as she scoops up a handful of sand, her palms cupped together, then watches the tiny, uncapturable grains run through her fingers before scrambling to repeat the process. It moves on in this cycle and you are unsure what to do. Should you stop her? Should you ask her whats wrong?
As if hearing your unvoiced questions she looks up, another stream of sand running fast through her digits. Her eyes meet yours and you are struck with a doleful throb of pain in your soul. Brimming with tears that never seem to stop falling, her hazel-green irises are lost, filled to their depths with a despair that goes beyond hopelessness. So vacant and, yet, filled with such emotion that your heart lurches in your chest and you are without breath for a moment.
She speaks, her red lips cracked and broken open from long hours of her biting them without break or mercy.
"I try to hold on, but it always gets away... It was the one thing I thought that I could believe in, and they keep taking it away..."
You don't know who is the "they" of which she speaks, but you understand that she is referencing the sand she can't cup in her palm.
"It's only sand," you say smiling, hoping to make her feel better. "The real things in life that are important never leave our grasp so long as we hold on to them."
She stares at you, a queer look running through her eyes, then backs away slowly, shaking her head.
"You're wrong," she answers plainly, seeming more disappointed to find that you couldn't help her. "They took it all away from me... Now I have nothing..."

Like water on the beach makes the sand stick together it is my tears that let me hold on to my dreams... But not any more... They took away my dream... Now what's to become of me? What do I have left to live for? It's a terrible thing to waste a talent, but worse still is to believe in your talent and have your confidence stolen away without so much as a warning. What is there for me now?

*Warning* Explicit Language

Why the fuck do I always screw things up? What the fuck? I'm so torn because I love it here so much, but I come and they manage to make me doubt one of the FEW beliefs that I do have in myself and my talents... And they have to go and attack one of the two that I hold closest to my heart... How can this happen to me? What do I have without my writing? They might as well take away my soul... What am I supposed to do if I can't write? What am I supposed to be? They can sit here and tell me that I'm not good... but now what?
I guess it was my own fault, but still. There was enough red on that paper to gaurantee I was nowhere near even a B... So what do I have left to believe in? God... Take a stake and run it through my heart... Cap my ass with a double-barrel shotgun... Throw me off a building or drop a chandelier on me... But don't take my writing! How DARE they take that away from me? What do I have left if I can't be good at that? What else is there for me to believe in? Why is it that every time I start to finally be happy someone has to pull me down? Why can't they just let me keep what I've got for a little while?
Well, damn them all... And damn me, too...

Stay With Me

Tonight I post in honor of my alma mater. This weekend is Homecoming at Delphos St. John's High School. As you can tell, I won't be home for Homecoming, which, in essence, is contradictory to all that Homecoming stands for. Congratulations to Homecoming Queen 2005 Alyssa Klausing, and I hope that the dance goes well for all who attend tomorrow. It's a night for magic and dreams and I hope that all with goodness in their hearts find themselves greeted by the night they long for and deserve. The theme song this year is Stay With Me by Josh Gracin, so in honor of my highschool, I post the lyrics here.

Baby, the clock on the wall is lying
It's not really that late
It's too cold outside to be walking around the streets of this town
Anywhere if you think you have to be can wait

So why don't you stay with me
Share all your secrets tonight
We can make believe the morning sun never will rise
Come and lay your head on this big brass bed
And we'll be alright as long as you stay with me, yeah

Baby, there's just no use in hiding
The way that I am feeling right now
With you standing there baby I swear I can't help but stare
Girl you're wearing me out, wearing me out

Baby, stay with me share all your secrets tonight
We can make believe the morning sun never will rise
Come and lay your head on this big brass bed
We'll be alright as long as you stay with me

Baby don't go it looks like it's starting to rain
And it's so warm here in this apartment wrapped up in this blanket

So stay
Stay with me
Share all your secrets tonight
We can make believe the morning sun never will rise
Come and lay your head on this big brass bed
And we'll be alright as long as you stay
I'll be alright as long as you stay with me, yeah

Stay with me

Just Some of Those Random Thoughts

Ah. I blog too much. I was reading through my other blog and came across this excerpt that struck me as a good thought to send out into the world.

It's kinda fun to randomly send my thoughts out into the world knowing that basically no one will ever see it. It's comforting, cause I can say what I want, and not have to worry about forcing someone to listen to me or hurting someone's feelings in the process of ranting.So I was thinking, if I could have any super power in the entire array of super powers, I would very much like to be able to read minds. It has seriously always been an obsession of mine to sit with someone and wonder what it is that they're thinking. Or to be with or around someone who means something to me and wonder that same thing. Is he thinking about me? WHAT does he think about me? Do I even exist to him? How does he see me? If he says one thing, is really thinking it and meaning it, or is he just saying what he knows I want to hear?Am I crazy. Yeah. I think so. It's always been important for me to be accepted by people and, as with all things in life that make the darn thing suck so much, it's always been something I've had trouble doing. I've had so many times where there was one guy always on my mind. Everything I did made me think of him, and even when I slept he was there somehow in my head. In fact, I'm a victim of that right now. But I've never been on a guy's mind like that. There's never been anyone who thought of me constantly without HAVING to. There's never been anyone who looked up at the stars and thought of me thinking, "Somewhere she could be looking at the same star as me..." Or if there ever was, I've never known. You see, if I could read minds, maybe I'd think I was worth more than I give myself credit. I know that there's something good in me, but some days it's just harder to see, having been shot down so many times. Life is all about building mounds for ourselves in attempt to touch the clouds and capture the stars. Each time we encounter a new experience we start building again, hoping that this time we'll reach the top. In the end, a person who lived a relatively smooth life ends up with a bunch of mounds that make a sort-of staircase by which they eventually obtain their dreams. Then there's me, who everytime I start to build myself up, someone comes along and knocks down everything I've accomplished, leaving me at ground level or, even worse, in a small hole I can't quite climb out of. My mind triggers itself telling me, "look out for number one". I've been hurt in my heart so many times that it's afraid of feeling. Afraid of starting to climb again, because the inevitable always comes. I end up face-first in the dirt with nothing but a dream to keep me alive. Makes me wonder sometimes if any of it is really worth it. In my more recent years I've adapted a slightly negative, but safe philosophy: "The closer to the ground you stay, the less it hurts when you fall". And that it does, my friends. That it does. So I keep thinking, what am I doing with my life? I'll never really be happy, because I'll always live in fear of having all my hard-earned height ripped out from under me and feeling that crushing pain again, the worst of it being when you can't think and you can't speak and for a few moments, you can't even breathe. Literally. Your heart stops and you can't get any air to enter your system, even though outwardly there's nothing physically wrong with you.
So what do I know of pain? Really nothing. I have no ailment that brings me literal pain that I can never escape from. To be honest, I'm kind of jealous of those who do, because at least they have something to be sad about. Something to remind them that they're human and still alive. All I have is a dull throb in my chest where my heart is, beating slowly, wanting to just close it's eyes and rest for a little while. I'm not strong. I'm not brave. I don't have any great feats to brag about. I don't know what it's really like to have constant, inescapable pain. And I feel bad for complaining. I feel bad for feeling this intangible hurt, that probably doesn't even exist in the real world.So if you happen to be reading this and something makes sense, you know where to find me. If you wanna tell me how pathetic I sound, "throwing myself a pity-party" let me know, too. Maybe if I'm reminded enough I'll get some sense knocked into me. Or if something I said meant something to you, I'm a really good listener. Maybe we could help each other learn a little bit about life as we know it. ^_~I'm off to reach the stars.
Luvs.

I retire for bed, but before the peace of slumber kisses my eyelids I send these questions out into the vast nothingness by which I am greeted:

If I am unseen by the eyes of those by which I want to be seen, am I real? What is there to life if a person knows not the love that strikes fast and without warning, enveloping the heart and soul with the happiness of a fond embrace? What is there to give a person hope that it's possible for them to be loved by someone other than a divine entity who intangibly cradles their weary head as they cry themself to sleep? Will I ever know what it's like to be hugged in such a way that the world melts away for as long as I need it to in order to find the strength to keep going? Will I ever be happy with what I've found?

Someday I'll answer these questions, although to some I already know the answer. As you go through life I ask this of you: When you close your eyes, don't be afraid to dream of what it is that you want. To ask for hope is not to ask for too much, and someday you'll find someone who will give it to you, and whether the two of your are just friends or much more, at least for a little while that someone will show you that it's not crazy to believe that things will get better. That person's prescence in your life may be ephemeral, leaving merely days after you found it, but for the rest of your life, you'll never forget the kindness of that one person and how they cared about you when you thought the rest of the world didn't.
*****, thank you for caring. Whether it was you just playing out your role of resposibility or that you really do want me as a friend, thank you for all that you've done. Even though I type this with the justification that I don't think you'll ever see it, you did once. Thanks.

Hobo George

At last, the moment the entire world has been waiting for!! *Trumpet fanfare* As promise, The Ballad of Hobo George....

The Life of Hobo George

There was a man named Hobo George,
Who wore a cloak of red.
He walked around the streets all day,
And accosted men for bread.

One day as he was walking home,
He stopped into a bar.
"Give me one to go, Good Friend,
I have to travel far.”

He bought his gin and meandered on,
To the local park.
Where he'd drink his life away,
Happy as a lark.

On his way he went to buy,
With his meager dough,
A lottery ticket to try to win,
An even million or so.

After arriving at the park,
An officer there did spy,
A drunken man named Hobo George,
Who wasn’t all that sly.

He dragged him down to precinct where,
On TV George did spy,
The numbers on his lottery tick,
To his happy eyes.

"Wait!" yelled George, frenetic now.
"I can pay my bail!
Let me run to the corner store,
A block from this here jail!"

The officer shook his weary head,
"I'll tell you what I'll do!
Five minutes to run and get there and back,
I"m going to give to you."

Full of joy and newfound hope,
At his sudden luck.
He rushed across the busy street,
And was hit by a truck.

You see, he lived life by the drink,
It was his only friend.
As irony goes it was a beer truck,
That brought him to his end.

A warning can be taken from this,
For every stingy miser.
The rich will get richer, the poor will get poorer,
And the drunks will get Budweiser.

Make the World Go Away

Look outside your window and gaze upon the moon, your reflection clear in its pale white surface. The midnight is clear, but inside your heart it's raining. Soft tears fall that you are destined to bear alone. You believe in hope, I tell you there's no such thing. You sit here at this moment, longing for your world to go away, for that set of arms to envelope you, for that voice to tell you it's all okay okay. You're world is empty. You are destined to be alone, and it's alone you shall remain. Maybe you'll get better, but I'll always be here to remind you about how worthless you are, to tell you how the help you desperately seek will never come to you to stay.
Put on your mask and play your part. Tell none of the secrets that lurk in the depths of your bottomless black heart. He will not love you. He cannot love you. You know of who it is I speak. Both of them. You are nothing to them, as you are to the rest of the world. You know they cannot see your tears, so you cry them freely. You were a fool to believe. The only part you were meant to play was that of the fool. Foolish girl with your foolish dreams. Look at the dark pavement below you. It's here that your dreams lie, buried deep beneath the asphalt, where you'll be able to reach them only when you die.

Where are you? Are you thinking of me? I see my reflection in the window pane, tears running down my cheek. I wish I could tell you, but it doesn't matter. I didn't even see it coming and you were there, and I lost myself again, but where are you now? I want to hug you... I just want the world to go away. Please, make it go away...

Stormy Night

Yay!! By my decree, it's story time! Just a little sumn I wrote over the summer. Enjoy!! ^_^

Stormy Night

She sat in the corner, un-phased by the crowd, her eyes upon the table in front of her. Outside the window dark clouds rolled in from above the shadowed mountains. She sighed softly to herself. It always stormed when she had to walk home.

"Might as well go now. Maybe I can beat it..."

She left a few crumpled dollars on the wooden surface and proceeded to the cash register to pay for the drink she had ordered. The cashier's name was John.

John was a smart man, working to earn spending money for college. Every week he saw the same thing. She would walk through the glass door, wearing the same sweatshirt despite the heat of summer. Her blonde hair was pulled carelessly off her blank face. Her jade eyes were vacant, but a small fire burned deep inside them, the smoldering embers of something always hidden.

"They didn't bring your drink yet, Jules," he pointed out casually.

"I know," she replied. "Why don't you have it? You look thirsty."

It was always the same.

She placed her money on the counter and hurried away before he could stop her from paying, as he had tried many times before. He watched her melancholy figure disappear in the haze.

As she walked, the silence of the darkest night seemed to follow her, hushing all but the thunder that growled in the distance. She looked up and watched the lightning far away dance across the treetops. She stopped for a minute and a small wind pushed its timid way around her. She took a deep breath and started to trek on. A light mist fell around her, producing an ephemeral outline about her body.

She had not gone far when the black clouds above tore open and unleashed their angry wrath, crying sorrowful tears for another lonely day. She had forgotten her unbrella again. Without so much as a glance, she fell backwards upon the saturated grass, letting the icy rain pour down around her, cleansing her empty heart.

John had heard the warning crack of thunder and looked out the door as the rain began to fall, a torrential downpour of blinding water. He knew she couldn't have gotten far. He tore off his bar towel and threw it upon the counter. He ran out the entrance and into the storm.

"Jullieanne!"

"Jullieanne!" he called, cupping his hand to his mouth and shielding his eyes, searching the un-seeable distance.

He almost tripped over her body where she lay in the field as he sprinted blindly. He fell to his knees at her side, his medium length brown hair plastered to his head. His eyes were dark blue, like the dying sky at dusk. He breathed heavily, his mouth gaping open and his ears deaf to all outside their watery cage.

"Are you crazy?!" he yelled to her, trying to see her eyes.

She stared up at the sky, gazing hypnotically upon nothing.

"It's not fair!" she yelled back, not looking at the young man. "Mother nature and all her children... God and all his angels... They all shed their tears freely! It's not fair that they can and I can't!"

He was confused until, upon further inspection, he realized that she was crying. It had been tactfully hidden by the rain that violently fell upon them.

"Every other day you come into that bar and every time it's the same!" he said. "You walk in, focused, but unseeing! You order a drink, but leave before it comes and insist on paying anyway! Never have I seen such vacant determination! Nothing is that bad!"

The look that spread across her features struck a chill in his heart. She smiled, a queer, wild-eyed sort of smile, and laughed: sardonic, cold and empty, reflecting the storm that raged about them.

"You think you know what it's like to be alone?!" she yelled, the demonic curve of her lips still delicately in place, unmoving in the torrent. "You don't know what it's like to have no one! To be invisible to everyone!"

"Well I see you," he said.

The smile faded and her expression changed. Amid the rain he saw, very distinctly, one tear roll down her cheek, bold in its crystalline clarity.

Her eyes moved, flicked, and in an instant were locked upon his. They burned now, almost glowing in the shadows that danced around them with the liquid movement of the rain. He was taken aback by the emotional intensity that flared from inside of her, as if possessed by an overwhelming feeling she had never experienced before.

"You don't even really know me..." she protested.

"I'd like to," he responded, smiling slightly.

She smiled back. This time it was sweet and genuine, like the kiss of sunset upon a glassy lake. He reached out his hand and she took it, letting him help her sit up. She embraced him and, as she cried on his shoulder, the rain began to let up.

Sitting and Thinking

Sitting and thinking (what else is new?) and waiting for some piece of brilliance to enter my head so I can write about it. There's a beautiful moon outside, full and hiding behind the clouds, golden and mysterious. Isn't the moon amazing? I sit here and gaze out my window and thoughts enter my head, these beautiful images of me being happy in happy scenarios. All the while I think, life is so confusing. -Sigh-
It's not that I'm particularily sad or depressed or anything like that at the moment, it's just that I'm thinking. Thinking of everything, but really thinking a lot about how much I really want a guy that I'm at least somewhat interested in to like me as more than a friend. (If you get an image in your head, black it out immediately because this entire rant is not solely based upon one guy.) I guess that's the benefit to being single. You're allowed to be interested in more than one guy at the same time. But there's still something to be said for finding that "one guy," something to be said for that closeness of knowing that someone somewhere is thinking of you when he doesn't have to.
If you haven't noticed yet, at times I tend to be a hopeless romantic, wandering through green fields of endless "somedays." I want someone upon whose shoulder I can lay my head on when I'm weary. I want someone who I can spend an evening with when I'm bored, doing anything at all. I want someone who I'll look forward to seeing everyday, knowing that he's feeling the same thing, wondering what chance encounter may brings us together, or maybe an encounter or two that aren't so much by chance. ^_~ Right now in my life I have the two best guy friends in the entire world, but my mind always strays off to think: Life is such a long road for us to be travelling down alone, and I could sure use some company.

Thank God for Awesome People

Alrighty. This is a quicky post, because I'm in a hurry to go off to do great things (if you can believe that). So, you know how there are those people in life that are seriously awesome? You know who I'm talking about: Those people who can make you smile when you really don't want to, or don't think you have the energy to, who you can't look at without smilng back; Those people who will come to you in your time of need despite what they still have to do in the late hours of the night to be prepared for the next day; Those people who will walk with you in the moonlight and give you advice and encouragement after you open your bleeding soul to them, and not think you're a psycho.
As I observe the world through my looking glass, I'm beginning to see that sometimes it's really hard to find people like this, and when we do, and are lucky enough to find more than one of them, it's easy to take them for granted. A friend once told me something that made a lot of sense in my head: When I told him I was afraid I would be abusing the privilege of his friendship by laying my burdens on him and taking advantage of his time (though I worded it a little less eloquently at the time), he told me, "I think of it more as cherishing the friendship that we have. (insert winking smiley face)" And he's right. The truly good friends in your life are going to be there for you no matter what, and they're not going to think that you're imposing upon them, and they're ready to accept your help, knowing that if they were in a similar situation, you'd do the same.
I'm glad that I'm finally starting to see this, and, if upon reading this, a certain person or few people came to your mind, next time you see them give them a big hug and say, "Thank you for being awesome." We base our opinions of ourselves off of the feedback we get from others, e.g., what they say about us to our face and when we're not listening. Did you ever think that by telling those awesome people in your life how awesome they are, you might just be giving them enough input to believe in themselves in a time of doubt they are experiencing?
I give kudos to the people who have impacted my life, and just by general whatever it's impossible to make a list of everyone without somehow forgetting someone. I'm not going to make a list now for the people who have most recently brought the sun back to my life. I'll say only this: Thank God for awesome people. You know who you are.

Random Kudos

Alrighty. This is completely random and without and precedence, pulled out of the blue in my mind, exhausted beyond all comprehension. I have a very special kudos to give out tonite.

Franz Liszt: Kudos to you! You wrote Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 in C# minor, and for that, my dear man, you deserve the world. Have fun decomposing! (>_< Bad music humor!)

How Do I Deal?

So I've been thinking a lot lately, as I always do, and the subject that has been most prominent in my mind has been mortality, namely my own, be it sooner or later. Is it wrong to be afraid of dying? Laugh at me all you want. It's easy enough, when presented with the question, "Are you afraid to die?" for us to respond, "No, of course not. When it's my time, it's my time." but have you ever really thought about it? Take a full minute right now and just think about it. Some day you're going to die. What does that do to you? Did you get a tear in your eye, or maybe a shiver? No? Think about it.
What happens next? Is it like we're dreaming, like we do at night, only it's all part of the same storyline and makes sense, running in linear order? Is it just like being alive as we are now, only with different sensations and what not? As human beings, we have no way of knowing, and one day it's just going to come out of nowhere and envelope us. This terrible fate we can't escape... How is a person supposed to deal with that?
I've also been thinking a lot about other things. Throughout our days of lower education (grade school, high school) we had the privilege to remain blissfully ignorant in regards to the world around us. Then, upon graduating and beginning to further our knowledge, we are forced to make opinions about subjects that are totally new to us, forced to "grow up" and become adults and decide where we stand, irregardless of how aware we were throughout our youth. So here I am, getting news and sides practically crammed down my throat and I have to decide what I think. I have to think for myself... We spend our whole lives thinking we know everything we have to in order to get by, then the world tells us to grow up.
I don't understand how I'm supposed to form an opinion when everything I hear breaks my heart. People hating people, acting like they don't matter in the world, and pretending that it's okay to be heartless. It's not okay to be heartless! I don't understand how a person can be... I see things now and I wish that I hadn't... Hadn't been told what's happening in the world... Could go back to a time when I didn't have to care... It brings a tear to my eye to realize that out in the world there are people who don't care about other people, don't have any compassion for them, or at least compassion enough to feel something other than malice for them. Is it wrong if I'm having trouble coming to terms with that? Is it wrong to not want to grow up? I want to be mature, but why does maturing mean that I have to lie awake at night wondering why nothing makes sense, and trying to cope with the fact that it's really not supposed to?
I see people that I know are mature, and I admire them, because I'm just now realizing that there are people in the world who get what it's all about, even if they don't realize it themselves, and are beyond that pettiness and close-mindedness I've always known in my life. Rising to be as awesome as they are requires me to give up this old part of myself and decide exactly who I am and who I want to be. How do I deal with that?

Two Monkeys

Two monkeys were walking through the jungle one day, scratching there butts and talking of monkey things. (They were very smart monkeys.) For the sake of this story, we must give the monkeys names.
Ashtabul was a proud monkey. He was tall and lanky and swung from the vines better than all the other monkeys. Every monkey was jealous of Ashtabul, but he didn't see himself as any different from them, which only made them admire him more. He had wonderfully soft brown fur; alarmingly straight, clean monkey teeth; and a pair of baby blues that could melt an ice sculpture.
Dennis was a kind monkey. He was shy and preferred to fade to the back of the crowd, but when he spoke everyone listened because his voice rang out like a bell, clean and crisp with a timbre that made warmth rush through the entire body. It goes without saying that he could also sing very beautifully (in the sense of monkey-singing, that is, which sounds like a chorus of "oot"s to human ears). He did not look so beautiful as Ashtabul, but everyone new that there names went hand in hand. You never had Dennis without Ashtabul, nor the other way around, thus was their friendship.
As I was saying, they were walking through the jungle one day when they came across a banana hanging from a tree. It was a splendid banana that put all other bananas to shame, glorious and golden. No other monkey had taken it because they thought upon passing it, "This banana is so ripe and perfect, only Ashtabul and Dennis deserve to eat it." That's how looked up to the two monkeys were.
Now Dennis had been known to have premonitions and an alarmingly acute intuition. If something smelt fishy to Dennis and they were far from the water hole, that meant something wasn't right. As they approached the banana he couldn't help but feel that something wasn't quite right. They stopped and looked at it, right within their reach. He eyed it warily, wondering if it was the banana itself that put him on edge, or something hiding in the bush.
"What a lovely banana!" exclaimed Ashtabul, marvelling at its beauty. "Why don't we share it?"
He reached up to pick it and Dennis grabbed his hand back.
"No, Ashtabul!" he said. "Something's not right. This banana is too perfect. We must walk away."
Ashtabul looked at him, his expression falling. It was a very pretty banana, and we all know how much monkeys like bananas. He listened to his friend, however, and walked away to their destination.
He spent the entire day with Dennis, but couldn't stop thinking of that banana, so wonderful. He knew that it must have been the best tasting banana in the entire world, and that all the other monkeys were leaving it there for him and Dennis. Just before supper Dennis was called away to his sister's tree to visit with their dying mother. Ashtabul told him to go and that when he came back dinner would be on the branch.
As he went to the two-nest tree they shared, a thought occurred to him. He could go and retrieve that banana and the two of them could enjoy it together as a treat. He snuck away after he knew Dennis was gone. Sure enough, when he reached the spot on the path it was still hanging there, beautiful as ever, radiating in the sinking sunlight. He reached up and picked it quickly, rushing home to make himself and his best friend fruit salads for supper. He cut the perfect banana in half and gave each of them an equal portion of it. He was so pleased, knowing that Dennis would be happy to taste such a banana.
He set the coconut bowls out in preparation for dinner and sat back, waiting for Dennis to return so they could eat together. Just as he finished, however, someone knocked on the trunk. It was Stacia, Ashtabul's girlfriend, asking him if he had time to walk her to the water hole to get a quick drink. Thinking it would be a little while before Dennis returned and he wouldn't be very long, he decided to accompany her, leaving the fruit salads sitting to be consumed.
Dennis trudged home sadly. His mother's condition was worsening and there was nothing any of them could do, save watch her slowly fade away. He climbed his and Ashtabul's tree to see the two bowls laid out for dinner. He knew that Ashtabul was with Stacia, because he passed them on the path. Ashtabul told him he wouldn't be long and that he should dig in without him.
Normally, Dennis would have sat back and waited for his friend to return. This day, however, he looked at the salads warily. They were very appetizing to the eye, and he decided that this time he would go ahead and eat right away.
Ashtabul came back a few minutes to find both coconut bowls empty to the last drop of juice.
"You ate my fruit salad!" Ashtabul exclaimed, thinking of the banana in the back of his mind that he would now never get to taste.
Hearing no response he turned to find Dennis sitting, leaning against the tree, his eyes half open.
"I knew you went back for the banana," he said weakly, looking very pale and unlike himself. "I wish you would have listened to me. It wasn't a perfectly ripened banana at all, Ashtabul. It was poisoned."
His friend's eyes widened and he rushed to Dennis' side. He was right, of course. He had a bad feeling from the start. The banana had been contaminated by a safari truck that was passing by that particular tree and splattered it with a toxic liquid fuel.
"But why did you eat it?" Ashtabul asked desperately. "Why not just throw it away?"
"And let another innocent animal die, not knowing what was wrong with the banana?" he asked in return, his voice growing weaker. "We could have told the other monkeys that they shouldn't eat it, but not the lemurs or the fruit bats. Not the iguanas or the sloths. They don't understand our language, and one of them would have inevitably consumed it."
Ashtabul was crying now, able to see the life draining from his best friend.
"I'm not scared," he consoled, taking Ashtabul's hand in his. "I die knowing that I saved one life that meant the world to me, and hundreds more that simply deserve to live."
Ashtabul clutched Dennis' hand tightly and watched as his friend took his final breath. He was crying now, and didn't care who saw him. His entire life seemed a waste to him. Who was he without Dennis by his side? How could he go on knowing that he would no longer hear that voice that everyone loved so much? His world was crashing down around him and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He convinced himself that it was his fault Dennis was dead, that he should have just left the banana alone like Dennis told him to.
For three days he was inconsolable and the monkey nation mourned the loss of this wonderful being, but none felt the impact of his death more than Ashtabul. He began to stop caring and soon his beautiful fur became matted. He was still the strongest and the best vine swinger, but none of that seemed to matter anymore. Even Stacia couldn't cheer him up, though she never left his side while he wanted her there, until one day she couldn't take it anymore and told him that when he became the monkey she had fallen in love with again, she'd return to him.
One day he was sitting in the tree feeling especially black and dismal, when Dennis' sister came to see him. She had a brilliant smile and looked him over with a little tut.
"Is this the life my brother has won for you?" she asked incredulously. "A life of self loathing through which you slowly rot away until your time is up?"
Ashtabul looked at her.
"How can you be happy?" he wondered. "He was your brother!"
"I know," she replied almost instantly, "but I also know that he would have wanted me to move on. He died so that I could live. He died so that all of us could live, including you, Ashtabul, and look what you're doing. You're killing yourself."
Something she said struck him in that moment, and he almost swore that he heard Dennis' voice instead of her.
"Will you come with me, Ashtabul? My mother would like to talk to you."
He took his bone pick and brushed out his hair until it was shining and fresh as he had always been seen. He followed Dennis' sister to the tree of her and her mother and went inside, his head bent low.
The darkness of death surrounded everything in the room and he could tell it would not be long before she joined her son in monkey heaven.
"Come closer, Ashtabul," she commanded. "I can barely see anymore."
He did as she said and knelt beside where she lay, taking her hand in his own.
"You were with my Dennis when he died," she said very deliberately. "You heard how his death was one of self-sacrifice, but you do not understand. Look at me, Son. I am a dying monkey. My passing doesn't effect anyone. You will all go on dancing after I have passed away, and should I die or not, your lives would be unchanged."
Ashtabul made to protest, but she pushed on.
"Do not interrupt," she mandated. "I have little time. You must live. Dennis wants you to live. Will you betray your best friend by making his death meaningless?"
Something in that sentence hit Ashtabul, and he saw, then, exactly what had happened. In that instant he stopped blaming himself and accepted Dennis' death. He knew in his heart that Dennis would always be with him as long as he lived.
"Tell him I promise I'll live," he said to her, smiling now.
"Oh, he already knows," she assured. "But I'll let him know that you'll be okay."
Having said that, she passed away.

Gypsy's Dance

Alright. Since I'm in ballad mode and can't give you "Hobo George" I figured the least I can to to quench you blog-reading appetite is to post the ballad I wrote. It's really kind of depressing, and I don't understand exactly what made it particularily so special, but everyone liked it and said that it was good, so... Here ya go!


She'd go into the streets at night
and dance a pretty twirl.
The men would gather 'round to see
the beauty of this girl.

Her hair was dark as midnight oil,
her skin the softest tan,
she was the prettiest gypsy girl
to be found throughout the land.

Her eyes were shaped like almonds and
the palest green in hue,
her lips, as red as rosebuds, held
a kiss for lovers true.

Her scarlet skirts, as deep as blood,
were made of liquid silk.
Her dark curls framed her oval face,
her smile was sweet as milk.

She danced a strange hypnotic reel
of mystery and pain.
Behind wives' backs the men would come
and ask for her again.

Sometimes she'd follow them home to bed
and there a service render.
She'd look into their lustful eyes
and whisper words so tender.

At dawn she'd walk the paths alone,
full of fear and strife,
her meager payment in her hand,
ashamed to live her life.

Upon her entrance kids would dart
to gain a simple prize,
twelve starving faces full of hope
and hunger in their eyes.

She'd paint a smile upon her lips
and portion out her wage.
"Buy only what is necessary
to feed a child your age."

"Mama's drunk," said sixth in line
a strapping boy of ten.
"She says you need to do the chores
and care for us again."

She let not the slightest feeling crack
the cover of her mask
and proceeded to be the oldest one
and did as her mother asked.

The children all left one by one
and headed into town,
and as the last two left the house
she fell upon the ground.

Tears of pain streamed down her face,
she yelled with all her might,
"No man will ever come for me
and save me from my plight!"

"I've been engaged in harlot sin
for far too many years!
This scar cannot be washed away
by any amount of tears..."

She made a very grave decision
to be carried out that night.
As the children all came home
she said that all was right.

She tucked them in their rock-hard beds
like every other day
and wrote her family a simple note
with what she needed to say.

"I have not lived a virtuous life,
I cannot tell a lie.
I want to say I'm sorry, that
I love you, and goodbye."

She took the knife upon the shelf
and, without a second glance,
slit her throat and fell to the ground
in her final gypsy's dance.

Coming Soon: Hobo George!

Just so it's on the record, I should be doing my homework right now. If I don't get it done tonight, that means that I have to wake up early and do it tomorrow. Will the vicious cycle ever end??!
So today was crazy, as are all my Wednesdays, but right before campus band when I was utterly exhausted and drained beyond all comprehension, I find I have a voice mail from Ikey. He called to tell me that he was walking to class this morning and a huge beer truck past him. Now, before you start going off and thinking bad things, please let me explain.
He recalled the early days of last school year when we collaborated our minds to write the ballad of Hobo George. Unfortunately, I don't have it saved on this computer, and haven't yet managed to abscond a copy of it from Ikey. He really made me smile, though, despite the fact that every muscle in my body was ready to give out and I just wanted to pass out and sleep. When I do get ahold of "Hobo George", I promise that I will post it as promptly as I am able to.
As you can see, today wasn't much of a day and I'm not really feeling much of anything, so I apologize for the disappointment in having to read a legitimately normal blog entry. I will say this, however: Big changes are afoot! It all rests on whether or not I can find a friend before I chicken out!

Purple Houses

The other day, maybe Saturday, I was riding the bus and I saw a purple house. It was colored lavender with dark purple trims. I can't exactly tell you why this house intrigued me so much, but it was in my mind for the rest of the day. A purple house...
I've seen blue houses of all shades. White houses, of course. In Delphos, there's even a puke green house! But I've never seen a purple house before. I liked it. It was bold and catchy and different. So why am I blogging about a purple house?
I have no clue. These days everything is expected to be a certain way. People are expected to act a certain way, talk a certain way, look a certain way... If you're not cast in that mold you're rejected, overlooked, sometimes even invisible... At times it's hard to convince yourself to get out of bed in the morning and embrace a new day. The result is that we live our lives always regretting what we never did, who we never tried to spend time with, who we never took that chance letting ourselves have a crush on.
I may be young, but some days I feel so old. I feel like I've run out of time and that if the future doesn't start to take shape now, I'm going to be the one who's left in the dust, regretting all the chances I never took and all the dreams I never let myself believe could come true. I feel so alone at times that if I could bottle my emptiness I could un-fill thousand jars. So when does that go away? When is it my turn to have someone who will hold me when things are too hard and, for the time I'm in his arms, make the entire world will disappear, fade away like the fleeting gold of sunset?
It's hard to be unseen, to know that I'm a shadow on the wall that everyone will just look through. I have myself, I have my faith, and I have my wings, but some days, I just feel so alone, even when I am surrounded by smiling people. If I screamed in the crowd would you hear me? If I began to cry would you see the tears as they streamed down my face? Would you care?
I saw a purple house the other day. On it's corner of the block it dared to break the mold and made me believe, for an instant, that maybe things could be different if I just believed they could. I've never seen a purple house before.