With All Of My Heart.

It's that time of year. Again.

I wake up to the sound of the melting snow outside that could easily be mistaken for a steady downpour. So appropriate. The fact that our winter wonderland is disappearing before our very eyes is synonymous with the somewhat depressing side of this holiday we find ourselves celebrating today. And yes, I am aware that I am writing in some absurdly long sentences. I'm also very aware of my spelling problem this morning [firefox loves to correct my spelling. which, don't get me wrong, I love too!].
I've celebrated Valentines Day a few times in my short lifetime. I'd say two of them were celebrated at school. When I was in relationships. And I always bought my date the exact same thing: an extra large Hershey's Kiss. Those things are huge, and freeze marvelously in the freezer. I'm still waiting for them to come out with extra large Hugs. I would probably die. I also remember celebrating the day in elementary school, making these elaborate boxes and delivering my foil cards to every classmate. And I will admit - when it was time to rummage through our notes, I always ate the candy from my friends' valentines, but never even thought about opening the sweets that came from the "weirdo" kids in the class.

But I suppose that I may have, in fact, been one of those "weirdo" kids now that I think about it. I had a lot of friends, but we were all quite strange back then. If you look at me though, I guess you could figure that not all of us grow out of that stage.

Being the teenage girl I am, and the one that I've become and grown up to be, the hopeless romantic side of me can't help but wallow in this day. I'm lonely.
And I just got called to cover someone's shift at work. 
But that's fine. That just means I can make my car payment this month.

So. In conclusion.
Valentines Day makes me tired. All the flowers and chocolates and dinner dates and broken things.
A day to be excited. A day to be alone.
A day that makes and breaks the hearts of the world.

New Things.

It's been snowing. 

Just let that last statement sort of soak in. I mean, really. Snow? Here? Get real. It was something ridiculous like 4 to 6 inches too.
Which brings us to our four day weekend.

There is nothing better than laying in bed, listening to the tiny taps of the snow on your window. I dipped into my covers late Thursday night and lent an ear to mother nature's mixtape she had so kindly left behind. With a full cup of NyQuil in my throat I let my eyes roll back and hummed to the Snow Patrol that burned my mind with sleep. It took me only minutes to find my evening's peace, and I was silent for the remainder of the night.

But now I'll backtrack. My mind remembers Thursday at school. How glorious it was to finish practice that morning and find myself laughing and smiling the hardest I probably had in a long time. Level tackling our own snowmen, a few snowballs here and there. And then first period, getting to watch the boys go out and play. I stayed inside, let my moccasins dry out, and cut some pieces of pipe for a project. Second period, a drag. Fourth period, I could of cared less. But third period. AP English. Not only one of my favorite classes, but our teacher actually let us go outside. We bundled up and ran away. Outside and into the abyss of white snow. The yearbook team came out as well, taking pictures and making just as big of a mess outside as we were. My AP teacher wanted a picture of one of her students making a snow angel....and you know who did it. I willingly flopped down on the ground and spread my wings. And even though my jeans were soaking wet, the smile on her face was awesome. The day was amazing. Hands down.

And now I'm at home. Transitioning from grounding to normalcy. Cleaning my room. Listening to the snow, now melting, outside.
I'm tired. And sore.

But this Texas winter couldn't be any better.

Bad Body Double.

The fact that it was even snowing this evening after school just astounds me.

Nicolle and I pulled up to the Whataburger drive thru and examined the icicles that hung from her side mirrors. Laughed at how freezing it was and how lame the guy behind the headset really was. Ice dotted every inch of the car. It crunched all over the concrete of Custer. The small flurries stuck in our hair as we let our heads hang out into the cold, dark air. The sky was an odd gray and white swirl. It was truly a Texas winter day.

I have to say that I'm proud to have been there, at the school, for that win against Centennial's basketball team. Our boys pulled it out to the finish. And even though we had many attempts at poking fun at the other school [the newspapers, rushing the court, etc.] it was still the best basketball game I've been to in awhile.

I'm happy to say sleep is no longer hard to come by. I fall deep with the same playlist at my side every night. I'm wrapped in thick notes and measures. Instrumentals and syrupy vocals that douse me in the weight of the world. It presses me to close my eyes. Make the world disappear. But my dreams are still as messed up as ever. They can't decide what they want to be. Every night I debate with myself over these strange color schemes and subliminal messages that I can't quite figure out. I enter a world of complete unfamiliarity. It's quite a fragile state, I should say. It's hard to keep your cool at three in the morning when you wake up to realize your actually in reality, and that was all but real.

The dark side of the moon is beginning to reveal itself.
Someone has a decision to make. Soon.
The situation isn't easy. But they're almost an adult.
They're ready to do this.

I've never found anything to be more truer than this -

The little things happen every single day. 

Sleepyhead.

Look up, and you're bound to see it.
That mysterious ring around the moon.
It's ice. Surrounding our nightlight with shimmering
crystals of water and light.
And other than a copper moon, or a cross country sunrise-
it's the most beautiful natural thing I've witnessed with my own eyes.

I end this day in this same room. I'm contemplating finishing homework. Or jumping on the trampoline. I'm reading things. Remembering things. Scratch my flyaway black hair and blink under the yellow-hued light in my room. I stare down at my hands. The vein system that runs from my wrists to my palms, and on top of these two things are popping out from under the skin. For some reason they seem to be a crazy dark blue. They're so bright and bulging. I can't help but spend minutes looking at every little track. Follow each with my fingers.
It's the little things in life that make me wonder.

I also experienced something new today. Acetylene poisoning is horrible. My rig backfired on me today while I was preparing to cut some metal, and I inhaled pretty deep. I've never felt such a tight, nasty feeling in my abdomen as I shivered and licked my dry lips, hoping to free myself of nausea. I had never tasted straight acetylene in my life. But today I did. And it's quite nasty.
I wasn't poisoned though. I was close.
But I have come to learn, today, that breathing in fumes like that can mess you up.
And it's no fun.

I'm still getting haunted.
The dark corners of my room have not left me alone quite yet.

And now, I shall be going to sleep.
I have a day to think about.
Practice to plan.
Things to dream of.
Letters to write.
And things to do. In general.

If only all of them could work. All at the same time.

Touching Nothing.

It's times like this where I just sit and wonder. I want to perch on top of the fence, or slat myself between two branches at the top of a tree. Lay down and think. Stop staring at my hands and start looking into the future. I'm tired of running around this same circle, hoping for something different, but always coming back to the exact same thing I started with.

Sounds a lot like track, doesn't it?
But I'm so in love with the sport, you could never coax me to hate it.

I'm dreaming. In short, almost painful spurts I am. It comes and goes. Feels like needle pricks. Just short and prodding. I see colors. So many colors. Not many people. Not many things. But when I do see people, or things, it's for fleeting moments. Such sightings that jerk me up in the middle of the night. Cold with sweat. Skin prickling with tingling anticipation - all for things that will never happen.
And I appreciate practice so much for the fact that I'm on a tight schedule. Getting up early, running, channeling the energy built up with these little episodes in my head.
I try to stop.
But it just won't go away.

I'm haunted everywhere. It's like a spirit. Like a ghost [such an appropriate, ironic description]. The dark corners of my room store whatever evils won't leave my mind. They harness my deepest thoughts and intoxicate them, inoculating them with memories and emotion.
And thinking about it - this makes it sound like I believe there are monsters under my bed. But I don't. I only believe in the existence of meandering thoughts that refuse to let go.

I guess the hard part is being forced apart.

The Ropes.

Been here. Done this.
I'm a wreck sometimes.
Although, things are sailing along.

I'm the fat kid in gym class caught in his jump rope. The guitar out of tune.
Awkward, but in place.
Overly spastic, but much needed in a world of seriousness and sorrow.

The highlights of my day would include everything from practice to lunch.
Yes. Practice to lunch. And everything in between.

But solemnity has washed over me.
I'm tired and thrown in.
What do I do?

No song can answer this.
For the first time I find that music hasn't brought forth an obvious answer.

The universe wants me to solve my own problems for now.
How strange.


- This was my most recent journal entry for history class. It answered a question. I thought it elaborate, but short and to the point. Does that make any sense? You decide:
                                  When you have hit your absolute low, when you can't speak, think, let alone eat                                                      the way you usually do...when there is no hope, and sleeping is the only                                                  time of day you look forward to. 

Cosmic Dreaming.

It happened so suddenly.
I picked up my chirping little chickadee from school. All smiles, dancing in the rain, as I chased behind her and laughed. The crossing guard, which I would think of fondly hours later, smiled and giggled along - a woman who we've known for some years now.
I would of never guessed.

The message of death is never easy. It is never expected, no matter how long awaited or how much of a surprise. But those three words, so simple and quick, resonated within me so hard. I crumpled in bed that night, holding myself in the darkness and praying. Just praying.
Two deaths. That makes two this school year.
I don't take loss lightly. I just don't.

The funeral tonight finalized everything. I learned so much about a man I knew only little these past six years. The words of praise and reminiscence were beautifully delivered on that stage tonight. Both times, as the casket was passed down the aisle, I stopped breathing. When asked to rise before the service began, the silence choked me. It pressed on my chest and sucked every last bit of air out of my lungs. I was drowning in the nothingness of sound and thick emotion. I felt like such a fool as they dismissed the mass. As the hearse was loaded I stopped breathing again. I turned away. I wanted to go back to the bus and lay down in my seat. I wanted to heave a hard cry for a man I did not know.


I can only ask so much. I want so much for a family that has lost something so dear to them. No matter how hard his last couple of months may have been, he was a father and a man of faith. And from what it sounds, everything God could of asked for, and so much more.
If only there could be an easier way to do that. To take a person. To send them into eternal everlost and light.

But the night does funny things. I've heard of being drunk on aluminum, and drunk on cheese [dad?] but I've never heard anyone else other than me talk about being drunk on nightfall. Feel the rain hit your skin, listen to it dribble down the windows and tap on the concrete. Listen to words you thought would never be said. Cold hands and icy eyes.

Mr. Seger, you have done it again. Proved to me that, most definitely it is "funny how the night moves."

Indeed sir. How funny it really is.