Midnight Clearing

Clarity comes when least expected, when you least desire it to come. When deep down you already know the answer and hearing it out loud will only make the wound tear itself open again.

When you feel like you can't live through the truth, it finally comes to you.

My dreams do this to me every night. My problems, my questions, my hopes and fears... So much is revealed--if a bit cryptically--in the dreams. But they're just vague enough that I don't have enough answers to be satisfied, to have the thirst entirely satiated.

Last night, I dreamt about so many people, all in one place at the same time, all shouting at me from different directions. Nothing new; I've seen this before. They shout and they cry and they scream and point in separate ways and beg me to save them.

Stupidly, I do. And I always end up dying to do so.

But last night was a little bit different than before. Last night, I recognized no one--not a single person--and felt more alone than ever before. There was only one person whose presence seemed to comfort my fear, and he, too, was completely unfamiliar.

He didn't smile, didn't offer me any assistance, didn't even speak to me at first. He watched me struggle with the screamed instructions, watched me stumble down the endless, dripping corridors that lead to thousands of dark dead ends...

As I prepared myself for the end of the dream [I can always tell when it's almost over; the entire atmosphere changes, shifting to revolve around me instead of the whole scene] and for the "death" that would soon follow, he suddenly appeared again, shattering the tension and staring down at me with cold, sad, deep eyes.

"You shouldn't have come," he said quietly, his voice only a murmur in the odd air. "You should have stayed where you were and avoided all of this. Too many mistakes. Too many mishaps. You're a menace, little girl, and you've ruined everything.

"They're all going to die, because you didn't save them. You didn't try hard enough. You failed. You--"

It's at this point that I broke his face. He screamed at first--high-pitched, sort of silly--and then crumbled into a thousand tiny bits of dust. I stood before him, ready to fight him if he put himself back together...

And I died, just as predicted, but the dream didn't end. The people went on living, each with a separate direction and purpose. All because I saved them. Because I did everything I could for them, without questioning my job. And, in my half-awake lucidity, I found that I was shockingly content.

Is this my place? My purpose? To be the one who saves them all without a single regret? I can't be sure. I can't be sure of anything. I'm certainly not going to die any time soon [hopefully, anyway] and I'm pretty sure the masses won't gather to shout at me, but still... The meaning was clear.

If I let the questions get into my head--the voice of the familiar boy with the deeply depressing eyes--then I'll fail. I have to have no doubts, no regrets, if I want to succeed and ensure that the people I love don't get hurt. I'm not expecting impending murder or attack. I'm waiting for the emotional struggles of everyday life to catch up to people, to harm them. It's my job to prevent such pain...

The thing is, I'm not sure if I'm able to protect them without asking questions.

And the thing about that is that it scares me beyond all belief to think that my measly doubts could affect their lives.

Me and the Music

So as you all know, I play the piano. I'm sort of good, I guess--what with not having lessons since I was really little and all--but I struggle with some very basic things, like trills and nine-note stretches.

As I've said before, I have little hands. Disproportionately so. I can't really go nine notes and try to play other things at the same time. Eight is perfectly okay [I would be in really bad shape if I couldn't do the whole octave thing] but nine just hurts.

My hands are also the reason I can't play the guitar. Trust me, I've tried. My fingers don't wrap around far enough to reach the strings. I know, I know, people with little hands play instruments all the time... But when it hurts to strum a single chord, is it really worth it?

So I'll stick to my piano. I'm learning three new Beethoven songs [Sonatina in F, Moonlight Sonata, and the Turkish March] and I'm finding that this whole "learning" thing gets WAY easier over time. It used to be that it took me months to master a new piece, and I would have to sit and actually count the beats. Now it's more like a few weeks, and the rhythm comes more naturally.

Still, I'll never be pro, and I'll never write my own music. I just don't have that kind of musical ability. I can write the words to songs from dawn until dusk, but don't ask me to put a tune to it...

Back to the bottle drive [it's for my bro's DI team... I disappeared for a few minutes...].

More of the All, Less of the Nothing

Something in that smile makes me
Weak, and I try my hardest not to laugh.
You're ridiculous to an extreme, sort of
Funny in a childish sort of way
Yet it's not the charm that charms me
It's not the attraction that attracts me
It's everything that shouldn't, all
The things that make no sense
And it's frustrating
Irritating
Awful, terrible, miserable
And I can't make head nor tail of it all, even
The things that should be perfectly clear

We're absolutely wrong in every way
I don't want you, and you
Don't want me
But I'm afraid that it's not going to be
How we wish it was
Because despite the wrongs, it's
Absolutely right, and
I'll always wonder if we should have tried
Just a little bit harder
To keep it right

I'll never be enough for you
And you will never be enough for me
But I'll settle if you'll settle
I'll take care of you if you'll take me in
I don't want you forever, and you
Won't want me that long, either
But now is enough
This time is enough
These moments are just enough
To make the whole struggle worth the effort.

Keep Me Here

You, me, her, him. All of us. It's not hard to see that we belong together.

So many roles I play, you know? And I wouldn't trade a single one of them away.

I'm a twin [a triplet, actually, but nobody likes our brother] to the ever-thoughtful Maddy, a little sister [and number one fan!] to the big-hearted Cassie, a big sis [and always-shoulder] to the silly and loving Kailey [and Young Matteo], and VERY closely tied to so many more [Barbie, Debbie, Lyrika...]. We're a family, more than anyone could ever realize.

It's those weird moments in your life that you finally recognize who loves you and who doesn't. Never again will I make the mistake of treating you guys poorly--never, never, never.

I look in the mirror, and I don't just see me. I see everyone who's made me who I am--biological family, extended family, friends, everyone--and it makes me happy. To know that I'm loved, and that I have enough connection with the world to get me through the day.

Because there are days I feel disconnected, and nobody should ever have to feel that way.

The tides are changing, and so am I. Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually decaying, but then I remember what holds me together, and I know that I can survive. We can do this.

I know it's risky to trust others. I know it's terrifying to think that these wonderful siblings I've got could potentially hurt me. But I don't care. I'm done being safe. I'm done playing by the rules.

So I'm going to love and not look back. I think I can love. I can trust, I can hope, I can feel, and I think I'll be able to learn how to love.

"If I Start Singing Right Now, Those Little Forest Creatures Better Come Clean My Room."

Definitely just watched Enchanted with Barbie. I'm not above Disney movies, and I never will be.

I want to be Giselle. So bad. I want a little chipmunk who talks to me and mice who wash the dishes. I want to make my dresses out of curtains and still look amazing, and I want to be able to believe in fairy tales [and true love].

Or maybe I just want a man who's willing to face a dragon for me... if such a man exists.

Hi, I'm Angry.

You know what bugs me? The Y chromosome. That's right, boys, you irritate me. You get us all twisted up in your crazy lives and then drop us like bad habits. Not cool.

You play games with our minds. Again, not cool. I'm a logical person, and I can credit the male population with destroying my rational thought. Thanks, guys.

Some of you are okay. Some. The ones that are just my friends and my brothers. But the rest of you can jump off a cliff.

The Hush Sound has a song called "The Boys Are Too Refined" [see playlist]. They're right, they are. They're so nice and sweet and mature on the surface... while actually they're still cavemen on the inside. Still waiting for you guys to make fire, aren't we?

Grr. I don't even know where this rant came from. Well, maybe I do... But either way, I'm angry.

I Don't Get It?

I just watched Across the Universe for the first time at Debbie's house.

Holy crap. [!]

I feel like I was just flying. Is that normal? Agagaga... Doesn't help that I'm very much exhausted and my brain has killed itself. Mehh...

I wonder, if someone were to actually be on a sixties-style acid trip, would the movie make more sense? Not an experiment I'm willing to embark on. No thank you.

I'm seriously considering watching another movie right now [probably Rent, it's sitting right here in front of me] just to get the weirdness out of my head. I won't be able to sleep for quite awhile, not after that.

It was good, though. Very good. I'd watch it again in a heartbeat. I think I may have fallen in love with Jude, though... Something about those British boys just melts the heart [and my sisters agree].

I need to stop typing, I think. Goodnight :]

A Flaw in my Character[s]

I walked in the door at 11:13 last night, my brain buzzing from the Starbucks caffeine rush that Kailey, Cassie, Fish [Kailey's boy], and I had just enjoyed. Definitely incapable of sleeping at all, I cleaned my room.

Hold the applause, please. I know it's shocking, but yes, OCD always wins in the end, and my room is now almost clean. But after my little obsessive-compulsive spree, I still couldn't sleep, so I sat down with the good old laptop and started to write.

Now, writing hasn't been easy lately. My head's too full of wild ideas and my life is too distracting. This was the first time in a long time that I cranked out more than just a bad page, and all I could manage in an hour was a whopping total of five measly pages.

Pathetic. It works, though.

Here's my biggest problem. After reading Book II in the trilogy, you kind of really like my main character. She's tough, she's smart, she endures a lot of "stuff" [no details, you cheaters]... She's a lot like the person I wish I was.

But by the time you reach page fifty of Book III, you hate her. A lot. From her daughter's point of view, she's a mildly psychotic mother, and every flaw in her character floats up to the surface.

It bothers me a little to have to recognize these flaws. I thought I'd created this invincible woman, one who can do everything and fears nothing. I was wrong, though; I'd created a normal human being, one who has flaws you wouldn't have expected after reading Book II.

She's controlling, defensive, and irrational. She keeps secrets from her children and refuses to listen to the logic that her friends and family present. Her life was turned upside down, it's true, but she takes the trauma and turns it into something bad.

Can I change her? No. No, I can't. She's done. I've said before how my characters control me, how they dictate where my stories go; this character is no exception. Flaws or no flaws, her personality is set in stone.

But she's not alone in the flawed category. Her daughter, too, is ridden with mistake-making tendencies that I can't correct. She's stubborn, impulsive, and begrudging. She forgets about her responsibilities and refuses to grow up. Her sister is her foil--quiet, patient, thoughtful--but even that character makes mistakes: she overthinks EVERYTHING and can't see the blatant evil in the villains she encounters.

And then there are the others! The cousin, with her naivety and wonder at the world; the uncle, strong but always terrified of upheaval; the visitors, too secretive and distrusting for their own good; the great-grandmother, her traditions interfering with the flow of the current world... Even the characters who are long dead have left their flaws etched into the world--their mistakes, however minor, haunt my living characters and change their paths accordingly.

Maybe this is what stories are supposed to be about, the flaws in human nature. It wasn't my intention--hell, I just wanted to write a book--but it has worked out in my favor, I suppose. These "people" can't change, because real people don't, but in the course of their lives I guess it's my job to show them how to cope with their own befuddling personalities.

Maybe these characters reflect my own flaws, too. Maybe this is me trying to explain myself. I'm just as crazy as the next person, but maybe I don't want to be...

Gah. So much to think about. Who would have thought that weaving my own little world would have such a great effect on me?

Wishes, Wonder, Worries, and Wants.

I blew out a candle on a cake today, in celebration of my so-soon birthday. I actually made a wish, too--a real, genuine wish.

But you wouldn't know about wishes, would you? Either you wouldn't know or you wouldn't care. Wishing isn't for the perfect people, the people like you.

Ha. What could you possibly have to wish for, anyway?

I don't want to think about you anymore. I don't want you in my head, in my dreams, in my life... I want you to leave. Kind of ironic, because before, I just wanted you to stay.

Your family was gathered today, weren't they? Gathered without you. But you wouldn't know, and you wouldn't care.

I sometimes wonder--mostly in the early hours of the morning--if you miss anything. If there are any pieces of your life that now feel like vacant holes. Can you remember me? Do you even try? Does my face bring you as much pain as yours brings me?

Part of me hopes that there's nothing you miss. I actually want you to be happy, you know. I don't want you to suffer. Making choices like the ones you've made can either end in total bliss or total sorrow; for your sake, I hope you're content where you are.

Even though you chose what I could never choose, part of me really hopes that you're at peace with it.

But then there's this other part of me--of equal size--that prays you're miserable. That you've woken up to find that your perfect world isn't as beautiful as it seemed, that the flowers have all died and the ocean's frozen over. I want you to pay for the hurt you've caused, and misery is probably the best sort of payment. It only seems fair, right?

I know these two desires are impossible to reconcile. I know that. Logic still does have some bearing on my life; I'm not entirely irrational. I can still think in this fog you've cast upon us.

That ability--to process information when no one else can--is what makes me the strong one. The glue that holds them all together. I can't fail in this, because if I were to falter, they all would come apart. This fortress that we've built is covered in weak holes, and the only thing keeping the patchwork together is me.

So thanks. Thanks for making me responsible for so many more lives. Thanks for putting me in a position I neither wanted nor deserved. Thanks for raining on so many fires.

Oh, and thanks for teaching me how to bear the weight of the world. I needed that little lesson, right? I needed to know how to carry the universe and all its cruelty. I needed to be forced just a bit more into the adult world. I needed to be shattered a little more thoroughly.

I needed it all, right? That's the only justification I can come up with. The only reason that makes any sense whatsoever.

Because I certainly didn't want any of it. Not a single bit.

Eggscellent...

Aw, ick. Egg puns. You know I've spent way too much time writing scripts for DI when I start using bad puns as post titles...

But anyway--happy Easter, everybody. I spent yesterday with one family, and I'll spend today with another. Much ham [not my favorite] and potato product, and twice as many laughs.

We're also celebrating my birthday today with the family, as well as my aunt's and my Gothsister's [she's my cousin, guys]. As you can see, this is quite the occasion for us all.

It's so strange to sit back and think about the fact that I'm going to be seventeen in just ten days. How weird! That's seventeen birthdays, Easters, Christmases, Thanksgivings...

I just can't get over it. I know that seventeen really isn't an important birthday, and that I still have a lot of life left to live, but it's shocking to think that I've been alive for almost two decades. So weird. It still feels like I'm five years old, like I can count all my birthdays on one hand and then run out to play.

I want to grow up so, so bad, but I... don't. I want to stay here. I want to stay in this exact time, where everything is good and stable and whole. I want this for the rest of my life.

Have a happy Easter, and so much more. Have a happy life.

Excited Exclamation!

So now my sisters have blogs... again. Definitely makes me very, very happy. Is this how a heroin addict feels when they get somebody else addicted? Sort of a sick pleasure?

Just kidding, I'm not that weird. But this is definitely cool. Cassie just told me about hers via comment, and I had a small spaz attack on my chair... Lol you're awesome, hon. :]

Here are the links. You want to check them out:

Cassie [my hilarious big sis]: http://anunknownfairytale.blogspot.com/
Maddy [my very silly twin sis]: http://liivelaughhlovve.blogspot.com/

Now I've just got to get little sister Kailey and big sister Barbie hooked, and we'll have the whole family on the Internet. Well, excluding the boys, anyway... ;]

Amazing. Simply amazing. How in the world did I end up with siblings this great? :D




*Quick reality check: By the way, Cassie and Thena are the same person, as are Aphrie and Barbie. Long story, but they're going back to regular names now. Tia's back to Debbie, and Seph's back to Lyrika [if that's normal?]. Just thought you'd like to know. :P

Trembled Fault

This is a shake down.
What once was stable has been shattered
You can't imagine how it feels
There's a hole in the fabric across your bed
The hole's that you're not in it.
You can't fathom what I think
I'm shaking, shivering, wondering
How and why and so many other clichés
If this is a shake down
I'm the one shaken
And down's the only way to go.

Last Glance

In the movie Elizabethtown, the character portrayed by Orlando Bloom calls himself a "collector of last looks." He memorizes the expressions on each person's face as they walk away from him for the last time.

I wish I had that talent. I wish I had some sort of internal alarm, something that alerted me as to when I was seeing someone I would never see again.

It would keep me just a little bit more sane if I could remember your last look. I wish I could recall it. But all I seem to recollect are the looks you gave me long before our final meeting.

There's something tastefully tragic about a lost cause, something so artistically appealing that I can't help but think about you. You are the most disappointing thing that's ever entered my life, and yet, at the same time, you're also the most intriguing.

God, I so want to remember the last face! The last look! But I can't make up memories, can I? I can't recreate the past, no matter how hard I try.

I've made it a goal from this point forward to commit parting expressions to memory. To never forget the way someone's eyes stared at mine before they got into their car, or the way their mouth curved up into a half-smile as we said our goodbyes. There's nothing now that I want more than to hold those images in my heart.

I guess I did learn something from you after all.

My Own Jazz Age

Colored shapes sprawled on the icy floor
They are the law that we nine obey
I align myself between their fixed places
And hold my breath
And close my eyes
And smile
Counts flow through the silent air
A few shouts from the crowd, but I'm not listening
Feet, hands, shoulders back
Blues and blacks and reds across our pale faces
Seduce the crowd, they say
Make them shout your name!
I'm spinning through the colors on the floor
And holding my breath
And closing my eyes
And smiling
The music is so, so sweet.

I could live in this paradise
This tumultuous, ever-moving, oddly blissful
Wonderland of a place and time
Minutes only, but hours still
The moves are in a foreign tongue
French name, familiar step
Don't need to know the meaning to understand
I'm twisting, curling, flying through the air
Not weightless, but smaller when contrasted
Air and space are nothing.

I am what they said I'd never be
Floating in the ocean they swore would drag me down
And I'm not afraid
To hold my breath
And close my eyes
And smile
Confident
The practice has made me stronger, faster
Lighter, happier
I find my final colors on the floor
And stand between their enduring spots
Knowing they'll be there tomorrow night
When we all return to finish
What we started. We pose, and
The stage light vanishes.

One More Justification for Crying

I forgot one reason. Kind of an important one.

4. I will undeniably shed a few tears when I'm overloaded with emotional, mental, social, and physical stress... either all together simulatenously or in any combination of those four. When I hit rock bottom--when I cannot function because every single aspect of my life is crumbling and nobody seems to notice and the work and pressure just keep piling on--I will, without any shred of doubt, cry. Part of it is the exhaustion; self-control can't be perfect when you're running yourself ragged. The other half is anger--which we've already discussed--because it's all too easy to be angry with myself, when I'm wearing down, and with others, for the pressure they put on me.

I had to add that one. It's a bit of a complex reason, but hey, it works.

Why I'd Cry...And Why I'd Not.

I have to admit, I'm a moderate crier. I don't sit around and sob incessantly without reason--sorry, guys, I'm a little bit stronger than that--but I'm also not the type who sits and laughs when a dog gets shot [Old Yeller, anyone?].

There are only a few reasons why I start the waterworks. I'm pretty sure they're legitimate...

1. Because I'm furiously, fire-spittingly angry. You know you've pissed me off [yes, I said "pissed"] when I start to cry. It may be the most ridiculous response, but I can't really do much about it. If I try to stop crying when I'm already fuming, I just get angrier at myself and it starts a vicious cycle of fury and sobbing. Grr.

2. Because I'm hungry. I know, you're thinking that that sounds really, really pathetic. But you've got to understand, my blood sugar goes CRAZY when I get hungry, and I slip into a state of shock with which only diabetics or hypoglycemics like myself can sympathize. Ask my DI team, they'll tell you what happens when I go more than five/six hours without protein [I am so sorry, guys]. I turn into a superbitch [yes, I said "bitch"... If there were ANY other proper word, I would use it, wouldn't I?], the tunnel vision clicks in, and my limbs and face start to go numb. So I start to cry. Pathetic, yes, but not really my fault. Self-control seems to escape me when I can't feel my arms and my vision's blotchy.

3. Because something terrible, horrible, or otherwise severely depressing has just occurred. Death has a funny way of making me cry, you know? And other kinds of awful situations. I don't really feel the need--or the desire--to elaborate.

That's pretty much it. I don't cry a lot. It's too embarrassing and, much worse, totally sissy. I'm tough, not a wuss. I've got enough control most of the time to make sure you don't know I'm upset.

Yet you can't forget that I am indeed human. I feel, you know. Being everyone else's support hotline doesn't make me invulnerable. And carrying the weight of the world doesn't make me any stronger than the average person.

I feel. I just don't always let you see it.

To Forget is to Forfeit, Isn't It?

Maybe I'm a little bit sentimental. Maybe I've spent too many hours wondering where you are and where you've been.

Or maybe I'm just as human as the next lost soul.

I'm having a hard time finding an emotion that I'm not familiar with. Nothing surprises me anymore, nothing. You cured me of any curiosity I may had felt toward emotional experiences.

I suppose, maybe, it's about endurance. Maybe I'm just supposed to push through whatever comes my way.

But what if there's no precedent for me to follow? Nobody to emulate, no preset path to wander down... I'm gasping for air in a vacuum and trying to swim through solid glass. It's not easy. So few people have done this before me; it's not what everyone thinks.

I can only blame you for part of it, but it's enough. Enough to make me angry with you.

Suppose, for a minute, that someone did that to you. Oh, wait... You can't suppose anything, can you? I remember, now.

I'm not weak. I'm not perfect. But I am fed up. I'm going to endure from now until the end of time, and you're never going to know how much my endurance has cost me.

So forget you. In reality, I may never be able to, but it helps to say it. Forget you. Forget you. Forget you.

Or, I guess... Love you. Tell me, why is that so much easier to say?