endings are always the pathway to new beginnings...

After I took my last final for this semester I stepped outside and took in deep breath of bitter cold air. It was a moment of stillness after a frenzied couple of weeks and too much caffeine. A moment where I searched for invigoration..but instead felt an odd sense of numbness. Another page slipped by, and I'm onto the next chapter. The thing about chapters is you can't stop them from coming. They are before us whether we accept them or not. But the great difference between life and a book is that we can savor chapters in books, even go back and re-read them. In life we do not get this same luxury. The chapter of Jenn's College Experience Fall Semester 2010 is forever over. I have memories, but I cannot experience the same things again. I grew so much this semester that a part of me is scared to leave it behind. Will I leave the growth behind? Of course I won't. But I still feel like sucking my thumb and curling up under my blanket to hide from the inevitable--time passing.

Unforgettable experiences this semester?

Finding a voice...a true, tangible, arresting voice that drove a novel from me I didn't know I had inside.

Living life in a 'two' (thank you to Mister Dave Tinney's amazing class)

Opening my heart so there is room to let someone, something, some experiences...in.

Learning to stand quickly in others shoes and gain a deeper understanding of them.

So much, so deeply, so greatly have I absorbed new ideas and ways of life into my being this semester. I cannot let the chapter pass without at least a word, a gesture of thanks for the time I was able to spend writing it.

Here's to letting the page turn...because there IS another chapter waiting...

Always A Goodbye (tenative lyrics)

V: We always knew we'd say goodbye
always knew we'd have one night
only one,
only one

We always knew that we both felt it
always knew that we both meant it
for one night
for one night

B: You'll go back to your world
And I'll go back to mine
but its midnight and we're still wrestling with time

C: I just wanna hold you
I just wanna breathe you in
Don't wanna think 'bout letting go
or how much I've let you in
Cause the morning's coming fast
and I just want our last kiss, to last

V: You look at me like you know me
then pull me close like you really know me
is it real?
can't be real

Our bodies sway like we're dancing
I wonder if we're really dancing
in the moon
we're in the moon

B: You'll go back to your world
And I'll go back to mine
but its two am and we're still wrestling with time

A Magical Day

When I see the phrase 'magical day' I admit my mind usually wanders somewhere towards Fantasyland and a frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity in New York. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am actually blogging about an entirely normal day that had traces of magic in it. Today on campus I walked through the MOST perfect breeze. I can hardly put into words what a perfect breeze it was...the moist coolness picked up the scent of freshly fallen leaves, tickled my nose and kissed my cheeks and then was on its merry way. I tried to follow that breeze, I swear. I looked like a frozen bumblebee loping around campus for a good three minutes. When I gave up on finding that exact breeze again I went to class, where I learned something extraordinary. A composer by the name of John Cage actually sat on stage during a concert and proceeded to 'play' his most famous composition, Four Minutes and Thirty Three Seconds. Why was this piece shoved in the constellation hall of fame? Because he played nothing. Utter. Silence. Cage said that there is even "music in silence." As a songwriter myself I found this fascinating. And then I couldn't help but think of Tarzan and the scene where all the kitchen utensils turn into instruments. And then my ears were suddenly aware of all the rustling papers around me, the extra breaths, the weird lumpy cough from the guy two chairs up....Music? Not sure if I would call it that, but okay.

But after hearing that "music in silence" idea, I couldn't help but hear a symphony everywhere I went today. Or at least the Ingrid song that was looping in and out of my brain.

Until another magical day....

Dear Boy

I'm writing you this letter you will never read. But its okay. I have to write it. I will begin by saying we had some fun. How could fun turn into you awkwardly sulking away into the shadows of the theater where I work, avoiding me like you are a three year old? Somehow the man I once kissed has melted into a toddler who cannot even make eye contact....And I guess its okay. Its just somehow I expected at least a conversation. But I guess even a conversation is too much for for you to handle right now. That's okay. I am perfectly capable of handling it for both of us. Perhaps it could go something like this

"Hey Jenn,"
"Hey Boy"
"I just wanted to clear the air and be adult"
"Oh...okay. Well that is good. No worries. Friends?"
"Friends."

How easy. How simple. I can do it. Can you?

Until we actually make eye contact...
yours truly

o i love this scene.

Dear Campus

Dear Campus,

You are so alive with 'cool' kids I don't know where I fit in. Everywhere I look I see someone propped against an old tree playing their guitar singing softly into the fall air. Sometimes I feel out of place in my standard uniform which usually involves black yoga pants and a some sort of tutu. I know I look out of place amongst your nation of skinny jeans, moccasins, toms, vests, and blow-dried hair quaffs. But can I just say I am happy being who I am? I like to prance around in tutus and pearls and cropped denim jackets I found at a thrift store. And I like to wear my back pack AND purse. And no I will not...under any circumstance...bring my guitar to school. Sure, it might be easier to fit in to your teaming times of abundance unique Indy-esque culture if I carried my guitar- but I prefer the awkwardness of my backpack AND purse. Also I prefer to stay 'unplugged' as I skip around campus.
I know that to be a cool kid you are required to plug into some sort of music listening device, but I don't need to prove to anyone that music is a priority to me over the rest of the population. I like the aesthetic quality of listening to the white noise. The mindless chatter and rustling leaves and whooshing skateboards are quite music enough for me. I want to be able to actually hear when someone says, "Hey Jenn," if someone ever so desires. And I want to be able to hear my own thoughts, just in case I ever have any.
Dear, dear Campus. I do love the way you are so alive. And so full of coolness. But please forgive me if I decide to remain the tutu-wearing, pale skinned, Twilight disliking student that I am. I mean no offense. I simply mean to soak in all of your culture until my fingers are pruny with it, so that I do not have to actually become your culture.

Thank you ever so,

Jenn

time to be honest with myself

If I'm honest with myself
I'll know you're still with me
Whether you know it or not
Because you still echo
through me

If I'm honest with myself
I'll know all the empty
romance in-between
has filled some cracks
but not sown the seams
because you somehow
still sink in

If I'm honest with myself
I'll admit I still care
more than I admit, more than I dare
And probably more than you do
And that's the worst part
But if I'm honest with myself
I'll face this part of my heart

The part I've tried to run from
Tried to leave behind
Tried to ignore
Tried to make mine

But if I'm honest with myself
I'll know that I can't
get it back
Can't ignore it
can't run from it
Can't keep it

Because I gave it away
So its not really mine
To say if I am okay
Or if I am 'over' it
If I'm honest with myself
I can write the truth
That I don't want to write

If I'm honest with myself
I'm opening myself up
For deeper hurt, maybe
But for stronger truth
Because I cant lie to my heart
No matter what anyone says
Those songs about being strong
And alone
They are lies to my soul
BandAid remedies
cough syrup for a cold
It wont get better
But it might start getting
simpler

Please.

Please.

Please.

Get simpler.

If I'm honest with myself

If.

If.

rose petals on a chalkboard

Life has been so FULL and wonderful and even confusing lately. I am just so blessed right now to be in school, to have the amazing family I have, as well as the amazing friends I have. Life is teaching me to see things new and beautiful I might never have seen...just like rose petals on a chalkboard. I feel floods of inspiration with my writing and songwriting and only wish I had a million hours in a day. A little note of thanks to everyone who threads my life together into the most beautiful and unique sweater imaginable.

so here is a moment to some things that make me smile :-)

and then I was walkin' on sunshine

and suddenly
I can feel the sun
again.

Forgot how good it feels
To let Sunlight in :-)

song of the moment: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6tV11acSRk

cracks in the soul

They say, this will go away
But time has passed,
nothing's changed.
Supposedly someone will come along
fill this void
finish this song.


Nothing.

A hundred faces
smile at me
inviting, wanting, alluring
but at the end of the day
its one that I see
and the one I won't ever have
again.

In so many ways
I've moved on
grown up more
gotten so strong

But in the darkest
deepest
cracks in my heart
your ghost resides
and it tears me apart

I'm supposed to feel whole
Be okay 'riding solo'
but its hard to feel whole
with cracks in your soul

Its like I want to leave my heart behind me
Because its the only way to leave you behind me

current song of the moment: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_U6iSAn_fY

oh my current obsession for so many reasons

love was invented to sell nylons

my book trailer for Stolen by Lucy Christopher

current obsession of honey sweet happiness

The Final Curtain Call

Bells Are Ringing closed last weekend. But what a fun, unique, and beautiful experience to act with some of Utah's best talent :-)

nap time

You know that time of the day...when the exhaustion sets in...the summer heat is compressing in on you like the air before a storm...and the only thing that will salve the extreme weariness you feel is to nap? :-)

I have been thinking this is how life is. Sometimes...the pressure builds, the heat is on, and we keep going on like champs, but we still need to nap. And I don't mean literal sleep, (though I adore real naps one hundred and ten percent). I mean 'life' naps.

Because quite frankly, I get tired of putting on a happy, hopeful, nice face to all the guys I am NOT and never WILL be interested in that keep pursuing me, only to have the ones that DO pique my interest disappoint me on some bone-deep level. And I in no way mean this in an ungrateful or mean way to the guys that are hopeful would be's of mine...truly. Its just that I need a nap from the happy 'sure I'll go out with you...even if its just for charity' smile. And a nap from the guys I AM into who just don't step up...or let me down in some way. And the funny thing is, I think I am pretty hard to let down. Really...I am very easily made happy. Because I am a generally happy person, but it just seems more and more that I keep swimming, and instead of getting closer to shore, the tide is pulling me further away.

Nap time?
Yes please.

Love

The Queen of Almost Fairytales.

i feel like a pizza

Lately I have felt like a pizza. I am a whole entity made up of many ingredients. Which are mostly yummy. But like a pizza, I feel sliced in many directions. Being pulled in two or three directions is one thing...but try ten...or one hundred. Or one hundred and thirteen.
Cases in point:
The Play: I am currently in a play (Bells are Ringing) and it has been a wonderful experience. I haven't done theater properly in some time, and its been great to dress up all purty and get hot under the lights. There is a rare adrenaline in performing. And I like it. But I think I would like it more if it was my ABSOLUTE number one passion. At times it has felt as if I sacrifice so much (a best friends wedding, camping with the homies, dating time, etc) time to something that really is not my number one. Though I seem to have a draw to performing...so...meh.

Writing: Now this one comes close in the race for number one passion. I have been writing since I could pick up a pen. I am currently working on a YA piece of fiction. Working title? Ingenue. Yes, perhaps me being in a play serves more than one purpose. Research. This particular story has characters that are literally screaming inside my brain twenty four seven. I want MORE time then I ever have to write, and ironically, I have less.

Songwriting: NO. this is not the same as writing. Some pluses? I can sit at the piano, and if inspired, can crank one of these babies out in twenty minutes. Its like making instant brownies. Instant gratification. I LOVE writing songs. Love. Love. Love. Working on a demo this summer. Enough said.

LDSSA: Oh institute. How I love you. And how I love the leadership program there. I can't wait until my summer clears up more and I can be more than just a phantom name on the LDSSA list and an actual participating member. ha.

Dance: Still calls to me. I just have no time. Erg.

Fitness: I could literally spend five hours a day working out if I could fit it in. I love it. Why are there only twenty four hours in one day?

Princess Time: Doing princess parties is fun, rewarding, BLOODY hard work. But I love it.

Book Trailer Time: I am WAY too much of an entrepreneur. Princess party business, book trailer business, what else can I start...? not.

General Granola Time: I have a Native American side to me. I want to spend time outside in moccasins. So sue me.

And People Time: I need to spend time with my amazing family, friends, and...boys. Duh.

Lets not forget work.

And school (when its in session)

I am most definitely a pizza.

addicted

I am addicted.
Writing.
Songwriting.
Character creating.
Staying out all night.
Summer rain.
Running through sprinklers.
Piano.
Kissing.
Dancing.
Watching. People.
Friending.
Loving.
Beautifying
Facebooking
Blogging
Talking
Not.
Working Out.
Sour Patch.
Rockstars.
Sleeping.
Randoming.
Reading.
Winning.
Learning.
Becoming.
Hiking.
Playing.
Falling. In. Love.

my current read. a deep dish of digestion for thought.

When I was seventeen and in full obedience to my heart's most urgent commands, I stepped far from the pathway of normal life and in a moment's time ruined everything I loved — I loved so deeply, and when the love was interrupted, when the incorporeal body of love shrank back in terror and my own body was locked away, it was hard for others to believe that a life so new could suffer so irrevocably. But now, years have passed and the night of August 12, 1967, still divides my life.

It was a hot, dense Chicago night. There were no clouds, no stars, no moon. The lawns looked black and the trees looked blacker; the headlights of the cars made me think of those brave lights the miners wear, up and down the choking shaft. And on that thick and ordinary August night, I set fire to a house inside of which were the people I adored more than anyone else in the world, and whose home I valued more than the home of my parents.

Before I set fire to their house I was hidden on their big wooden semicircular porch, peering into their window. I was in a state of grief. It was the agitated, snarling grief of a boy whose long rapturous story has not been understood. My feelings were raw and tender, and I watched the Butterfields through the weave of their curtains with tears of true and helpless longing in my eyes. I could see (and love) that perfect family while they went on and on with their evening without seeing me.

they don't make 'em like that anymore

scratched lens

I realized today sitting in church that the wash of weird and bad dating experiences has finally rubbed off on me. Like a manicured hand with freshly painted nails that is suddenly dipped in fingernail polish remover. What happened to me isn't 'staining' it is 'stripping.' And then I realized, that because a lot of the enchanting ideals I have have been stripped, my lens on life is...weary. It can't seem to focus as easily. And my heartbeats, that used to thud with romance and hope, beat slower and with trepidation. And what really struck me was...how this effects my relationships with EVERYONE. Not just dating. That was what hit me hardest. I don't want to be a hobbling turtle when it comes to being their for my family and friends. I still want to be fast and present and not weary. But.
I.
Am.
Weary.
And even admitting this in any written form is HARD for me. I hate thinking it, yet alone admitting it. But there is something sharp and honest about writing it down. And I don't know if ANYONE will even read it. But its there, for me. Because admitting I am weary means I can start regrouping. That's right. I WILL not lie down and just let my fuzzy lens take over. I will fight. And I will get that lens back...I guess it never really left. It just got scratched.

celeb for a night.

I was a little nervous to go to the Lady Gaga fashion show. I won't lie. I love to dance. I love parties. But I am not really a 'club' girl. So I wasn't sure what to expect. I went with some good girlfriends. We met at my darling friend Sara's house for appetizers and showed off our outfits before hitting the scene. The entire drive up I had swans swarming my stomach. What was I supposed to DO at a fashion show? What if people...gulp...talked to me? When we pulled up and then 'made our entrance' I was Abruptly Overwhelmed. :-)))

The gauzy lights, pulsing music, shattering movements of bodies around me. And then cameras flashing.

I felt like I just stepped onto a movie set. We were attacked my 'paparazzi'. They chased us with flashes, ushered us to poses and 'sets'. At first I thought COOL. But then my cheeks started hurting. The way they often do when I tackle more than one princess party in a day (for those of you who don't know my second job is dressing up like a princess and playing with kids, fun, but tiring).

We were given the VIP treatment. Literally. First we were escorted to this rad overlook with this techno water that poured down the glass that surrounded us. The seats were fat, non-symmetrical cushions. I wasn't sure HOW to sit properly on such a strange shape, so I just...improvised. Up in the Water Room I was approached by a guy. We shall call him Dreamy. He had longish hair, and looked somewhere between rogue and artsy. Not my usual type. Okay...a girl isn't picky when a rogue artsy type approaches you. Dreamy was charming, flattering, and new exactly what to say.

What was weirder was...I KNEW what to say. Like I'd watched the same movies and sitcoms he had growing up, our dialogue bounced back and forth in a fiery, yet predictable pattern that had me thinking, "do people really talk like this?" I mean...I'm used to the dudes from church who approach you with a "hey lets go play Mario Card." Not some suave "I've never seen a face like yours"...blah blah buttering up blah.

The night played on like an episode of The Hills. Complete with random club goers snapping pics of us with their phones (it seemed everyone thought we were SOMEONE), the offer of free drinks all around (I don't drink, but enjoyed a diet coke), and tons of gym attending attractive guys with heavy lidded eyes approaching.


And just like an episode of The Hills I remember the night in subtle, edited fragments. And I think it will stay that way in my memory. One episode. That I can re-run but never re-write.

I am not In.

I am not in the club.
I am not in the clique.
I am not in the circle.
I never could fit.

I am not in the house.
I am not in the yard.
I am not on the moon.
I landed here on mars.

Galaxies away. I cannot reach.
I watch the couples. The white. The roses.
I have nothing.

Its not that I can't.
Its not that I won't.
But I'm tired of the
invitation only party
I'm tired of always
knocking. Knocking.

But no one comes.
to let me in.

I am not In.

a touchable dream

you're a little bit of chocolate
when i'm feeling sad
a little bit of asprin
when my headaches bad
with you i don't need wings to fly
i'm already up there, constant high
you're a wish in a well
my secret to tell
a black and white scene
a touchable dream
A kiss in a car-- that goes too far
A chink in the armor I wear
over my heart
My summer in Italy
When the night is chilly

You're the streak of sun
That splits the storm
Melting my knees
Making me warm

oh and on that Note. (music that is) and my beautiful friend Sara's photography. She is brilliant. Can even make me shine up okay

I have been working my little mind into a slushy writing songs lately. Some ideas I am playing with

Red Tricycle Love
Almost Fairy Tale
Off Guard
Better Than a Fantasy
The Cinderella Song (Em's song)
Valentine Me
Wendy's Song
One More Time
Pretend

anddddd there's more.

Jussss to name a few.

You know I love other peoples stories, so if ya got a good one let me know and we can inspire it into some cool lyrics :-)

learning to walk on my hands

I feel like this new year has so far been
One: Amazing
Two: A journey
Three: Full of discovery
Four: Learning to walk on my hands...

Our entire lives we are told to walk on our feet. I have to say, I have always wanted to rebel and be the one person at the mall stumbling my way around upside down. This may seem strange. But if you haven't already picked up on the fact that this is an analogy for life, perhaps you should do a handstand or two, come back, and read again.

Yes. I want to walk on my hands.
Yes. I believe in fairy tales.
Yes. I think every moment of life CAN be a fairy tale
And Yes. I have disappointments and heartache and setbacks...but that's what makes me more exited to turn the page. Every day can be its own story, every hour might have a new dragon for me to fight, but I want to fight it. I want the hard parts...because then I can have the happily ever after. And start all over again the next day with Once Upon a Time.