I took out my lip stud last night.
MIXED FEELINGS.
why did I do it?
1. it became a nervous habit to twist it
2. I constantly messed with it in my mouth. annoying annoying
3. because I was always touching it, it made my face break out
4. I am fair skinned and honestly I don't think it even looked that great on me.
5. I will have to take it out for Pine Cove anyway
why will I miss it?
1. because it was B.A.
2. random ppl everywhere would ask me if it hurt when i got it done. i would respond always, "my nose hurt worse." how cool was I?!
3. it made me different from all the girls who have a nose piercing only. i think at least 40% of girls at SFA have one.
4. because it was cool
5. Amber and I are no longer twins
6. I never got to kiss anyone with it. That was a goal failed...
as you can see, this was a battle to decide. but I finally just took it out. NO MORE.
there's a season for everything
it's spring time now.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Present Presence
I have a key to a house in Abilene.
I opened that door and entered a place where no one was home. All the lights were off, so I went around and turned them all on. I searched each room for evidence of life going on without me. We still got the mail. There it all was, thrown onto the old dining-room table. My mom's plants still thrived in each room. The petals of one had fallen and gotten caught in an invisible cob-web. How elegant. There they were, these spots of pink paused mid-float on the wall. I stared at them for awhile. Pivoting on the hard-wood floor, I tore my eyes from the floating art. I was surprised to see my parents had gotten a new bed. It seemed huge, this king-sized mattress. They had a queen-size bed my entire 'mom i had a bad dream can i sleep with you guys?' life. Do they want to be further apart? No, surely not, I shoudn't think that. I pivoted again, noticed that I pivoted a lot, and then walked to the back of the house. The ice cream man still drove his creepy van around. That same silly melody was still lifting out of it's speaker and into the walls of my house. I laughed at that. I never had money for the fancy ice-creamy treats, just the fudgesicles. My sister's room, not surprisingly, had even more things pinned and nailed to the walls. My room seems less and less like my room every time I come home. I'm sitting in it now. I can hear a bird outside and it's the middle of the night. Yesterday was the first day of spring, so I guess that bird has a right to sing whenever he fine well pleases. The neighbors painted their fence white. I've been looking at a brown fence for so long. The house across the street is white too. It used to be brown... my existence here is being covered up.
Maybe I'm just really really sentimental, or maybe I just use my eyes too much.. Either way, I am splitting in half. Part of me stays here, here in the creaks of the wood and in the dust behind the dresser. The other part moves away and walks in other rooms. I like it all. I've never considered myself to be consumed by the past or the future... just consumed by living both and remembering it all. It's the present I struggle with. Does the present even exist? That breath I just exhaled now belongs in the past and the one I'll inhale in a second is in the future.
It's this lap between breaths that I'm still aspiring for.
I opened that door and entered a place where no one was home. All the lights were off, so I went around and turned them all on. I searched each room for evidence of life going on without me. We still got the mail. There it all was, thrown onto the old dining-room table. My mom's plants still thrived in each room. The petals of one had fallen and gotten caught in an invisible cob-web. How elegant. There they were, these spots of pink paused mid-float on the wall. I stared at them for awhile. Pivoting on the hard-wood floor, I tore my eyes from the floating art. I was surprised to see my parents had gotten a new bed. It seemed huge, this king-sized mattress. They had a queen-size bed my entire 'mom i had a bad dream can i sleep with you guys?' life. Do they want to be further apart? No, surely not, I shoudn't think that. I pivoted again, noticed that I pivoted a lot, and then walked to the back of the house. The ice cream man still drove his creepy van around. That same silly melody was still lifting out of it's speaker and into the walls of my house. I laughed at that. I never had money for the fancy ice-creamy treats, just the fudgesicles. My sister's room, not surprisingly, had even more things pinned and nailed to the walls. My room seems less and less like my room every time I come home. I'm sitting in it now. I can hear a bird outside and it's the middle of the night. Yesterday was the first day of spring, so I guess that bird has a right to sing whenever he fine well pleases. The neighbors painted their fence white. I've been looking at a brown fence for so long. The house across the street is white too. It used to be brown... my existence here is being covered up.
Maybe I'm just really really sentimental, or maybe I just use my eyes too much.. Either way, I am splitting in half. Part of me stays here, here in the creaks of the wood and in the dust behind the dresser. The other part moves away and walks in other rooms. I like it all. I've never considered myself to be consumed by the past or the future... just consumed by living both and remembering it all. It's the present I struggle with. Does the present even exist? That breath I just exhaled now belongs in the past and the one I'll inhale in a second is in the future.
It's this lap between breaths that I'm still aspiring for.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Goo
That's my I'm completely in shock sound: "Goo." Yes, I revert back to my most basic baby noise when I'm knocked to the ground. Shocked. I don't even know how to act right now.
My art work got selected to be in the the Texas National 2008 Exhibition. p-WHAT? ME? MINE? It's my final project for my design class. My teacher loved it so I submitted it. I love it too. I spent a lot of time planning it out and when I finally sat down to paint it flowed right out of me; my creative juices? So I'm stoked that it got in... but gee golly, I'm not even a painter. And I'm a freshman! Most of our graduate students didn't even get in. I'm not trying to brag at all... I'm just trying to illustrate why I'm so shocked. I wish I had another word for shocked. That's how shocked I am.
I think God wants me to be an artist.
I think.
Here's what the painting means:
It's called "Peeling Appearances."
We are all guilty of judging, of looking at someone walking past us and thinking that they'd look so much better if they would just slim down a bit. Like we hold some plastic knife that's ready to unskillfully carve away at some human being, just because we can. But why do we have this inclination? Who decided all the model's bodies were correct? It's just a body. It's just a pear. It will taste according to how it's been grown.
I could go on, but I'll leave you all to interpret as you will. Happy St. Patrick's Day. (if you don't know about this guy then you should definitely look him up. He was quite the human being)
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Contact-
I believe in hugs. The real ones. Tight ones. Full-frontal tight hugs. Side hugs are worse than hand shakes. Nothing can be firm. I try to squeeze with a side hug and just end up with pressure between their left shoulder and my right armpit. There's nothing fulfilling in my armpit. I'm going to hug you straight on. I will hold you there. I may even pat your back a couple times. The first pat says, "I'm truly glad to see you" and the second pat says, "thanks for hugging me back."
Touch is essential to contact. You cannot have contact without touching. We all need to brush past someone every once in awhile to remind us that we're still here. It's stimulating. I'm not even talking sexual touch, not at all. I'm talking an elbow to side, or a hand to shoulder. It's just nice to know someone feels you back. They can't help it.
In a desperate attempt to fulfill my want for touch, I've had to settle for holding someone's elbow or part of their arm as I talk to them. This has become a habit that I like, I'm not gonna lie. I recently developed a touchy-feely nature that ate off my little sister and close friends back home. I would reach out for a hug or an arm or just a nice pat and rub on the back. That's an odd thing to do with people you've only known a few months, so I've had to tone it down...
But God, I need to feel another's human flesh. Am I the only one here? A lonely tree amongst pillars? Do you bruise like me? Can I hug you just for selfish reasons? My muscles were meant to flex--
I want to rid this void of air between us.
Let's mix lines. Mine can curve up and around, your's can go under. We'll make a knot, make it tight, then untie it flawlessly. In the midst of this bond, our bodies can extract and let go of some things that are our minds can't comprehend. Your shoulders will tell mine about stress and my shoulders will whisper to yours about peace. They'll have this conversation without us knowing. The air we exhale will entangle and float away together. I'll close my eyes... because this is where I am, not back there. All these lines knotting, supporting, and leaving together will form a picture lost in time. Lost in Time but not in Here. My body took a picture of yours and yours of mine. They won't forget their place in the piece.
We over-use our other senses. Our eyes tire from seeing it all. Our ears long for a silent pause that will never come. We taste and smell this city and its produce every few hours. Give touch a chance. It's sick of not being touched back. Clothes and books could care less that we grasp them.
oh, and please don't be afraid to hug me...
Touch is essential to contact. You cannot have contact without touching. We all need to brush past someone every once in awhile to remind us that we're still here. It's stimulating. I'm not even talking sexual touch, not at all. I'm talking an elbow to side, or a hand to shoulder. It's just nice to know someone feels you back. They can't help it.
In a desperate attempt to fulfill my want for touch, I've had to settle for holding someone's elbow or part of their arm as I talk to them. This has become a habit that I like, I'm not gonna lie. I recently developed a touchy-feely nature that ate off my little sister and close friends back home. I would reach out for a hug or an arm or just a nice pat and rub on the back. That's an odd thing to do with people you've only known a few months, so I've had to tone it down...
But God, I need to feel another's human flesh. Am I the only one here? A lonely tree amongst pillars? Do you bruise like me? Can I hug you just for selfish reasons? My muscles were meant to flex--
I want to rid this void of air between us.
Let's mix lines. Mine can curve up and around, your's can go under. We'll make a knot, make it tight, then untie it flawlessly. In the midst of this bond, our bodies can extract and let go of some things that are our minds can't comprehend. Your shoulders will tell mine about stress and my shoulders will whisper to yours about peace. They'll have this conversation without us knowing. The air we exhale will entangle and float away together. I'll close my eyes... because this is where I am, not back there. All these lines knotting, supporting, and leaving together will form a picture lost in time. Lost in Time but not in Here. My body took a picture of yours and yours of mine. They won't forget their place in the piece.
We over-use our other senses. Our eyes tire from seeing it all. Our ears long for a silent pause that will never come. We taste and smell this city and its produce every few hours. Give touch a chance. It's sick of not being touched back. Clothes and books could care less that we grasp them.
oh, and please don't be afraid to hug me...
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Sometimes I like to Write Completely Pointless Blogs
I have: 5-something dining dollars left. I had 120 (?) on January 15th. It's just March 4th. They've all gone to either Starbucks or Bagel Brothers. Worth it? Piss yeah. I have a weakness for good coffee and bagels with cream cheese. and lemon pound cake. and lattes. with two shots, one ain't enough. and boys with nice smiles... but I can't buy them with dining dollars. too bad.
I think: trains sound better in the winter. at night.
I want: to curl up under my covers. but it's too much work getting into pajamas, showering, brushing my teeth, and taking out my contacts. and on top of it all, I'd have to get off the computer. noooooo! this is a problem I have.
I remember: last wednesday perfectly. It was my first time to draw a penis in class. Not that I draw them outside of class. Garfield wheeled that man-sized plastic mustle model into the center and told us to express ourselves. Great, It's facing me. I dived right in though. I drew everything else, even the butt, before finally marking a line about an inch long and a centimeter wide (not to scale) to represent the scary male genital organ before me. whoooooo. that was over. sweat dripped off my forehead. the room finally stopped spinning. I had lived through my first penis encounter! ...even though it was plastic. I am well aware there is worse to come. Life Drawing.
I cut: my hair. bangs and layers.
I should: go to bed now.
I won't: until later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)