control

I like to get what I want-- almost as much as I like fighting to get what I want. I'm not afraid to dive head first into battle, war paint on as I make my way through life. Recently I have come to realize that in my efforts to fight for what I want I have crossed a collapsing boundary and found my hands dipped in the slippery grit of control. I struggle with the paradox of not giving up, of fighting for what I want, and trying to control the outcome...control my entire life. In trying to control every outcome I have on accident given up my weapons to fight a fair fight and have instead exchanged them for the sneaky devices of a spy. I don't want to be a spy, I want to be a warrior. I can be extremely stubborn. I wont give up. But how do I find the balance of letting go...of practicing faith...and still fighting for what I want? I need to give up control, but all the same I need to keep my war paint. I can't control how my life will turn out, but I can fight for the things I want...right?

Gah. Its hard for me to live in the gray of this.

so this is

so this is life on the sun. I feel a constant glow, a consuming energy as I try to take it all in. no more gravity. just fire and brightness and light. so far...i love life on the sun.

Silence

I am more powerful than you, because I can listen. I know the cleverness of sound because I am careful to be still enough to understand it. Words can move, attack, destroy, seduce, impact, belittle, hurt, resolve, love, tangle. I can deduce. I can watch. I can deaden or make alive. If you throw words at me, I can soften them and butter them up. I can chew your words until they dissolve or I can hang them up so they are amplified.

Silence.

I am silence.

Sometimes there is too much of me. But most of the time, there is not enough.

A few gems

Lately I have been reading Atlas Shrugged by the very talented and insightful Ayn Rand. When I have finished the novel (which is well over one thousand pages) I will post a little more. But for now, a few gems I have savored:

"Let me give you a tip on a clue to men's characters: the man who damns money has obtained it dishonorably; the man who respects it has earned it."

"Contradictions do not exist. Whenever you think that you are facing a contradiction, check your premises. You will find that one of them is wrong."

"A man's sexual choice is the result and the sum of his fundamental convictions.... He will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience a sense of self-esteem. The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer--because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of an achievement."

"What greater wealth is there than to own your life and to spend it on growing? Every living thing must grow. It can't stand still. It must grow or perish."

"There are two sides to every issue: one side is right and the other is wrong, but the middle is always evil"

"I take no pride in hopeless longing; I wouldn't hold a stillborn aspiration. I'd want to have it, to make it, to live it."

"Money is only a tool. It will take you wherever you wish, but it will not replace you as the driver."

"If you don't know, the thing to do is not to get scared, but to learn."

And many, many more. The End. For now.

one on one hundred lonely

clock on my phone blinks 11:17, I tuck it away and fold my hands
fold them carefully, like I might fold a fancy dinner napkin
the longer it takes to fold my hands, the longer I can avoid looking at
Him.
I watch a speck of dust sigh in and out, all around the room
the room.
Its so full. Full of people. They have faces, but to me they are all one shade
Gray.
My heart catches in my throat when I see a flash of color. It dances in the gray. Teasing. Luring.
Blue.
Your eyes.
I see them for an instant that is split into a thousand splinters and then shatters.
Everything falls away because for a shattered second I have your eyes. And they have me. So completely we have each other.
My hands drop to my sides. They tingle.
And then You're gone.
And He is there.
His gray eyes watch me with authentic earnest that only rolls off my skin like marbles, heavy with disinterest.

Hundreds of bodies around me.
One on One across from me.
One on One's all around me.

I go back to folding my hands. Carefully, articulately I label each finger, each inch of flesh in my mind something to watch other than the carnival around me.

The last label I reserve for my pinkie finger, as I tuck it under all the rest: Lonely.

you know the feeling...

you know the feeling.
can't breathe because it hurts too much.
can't think because whenever you do you think about...
can't move because if you do you will move in only one direction. its like gravity.
always pulling you toward...
in so much pain.
didn't know my soul could crave something so strongly.

you are my one. you are my only. and for allergy related reasons I can never have you again

Sour Patch Kids.

My all time favorite relationship. You got me through some rough semesters.

this break will sting.

running around naked

I told someone EVERYTHING recently. The truth in all of its awkward, vulnerable, messiness. I shed the old sweater and let everything out. Things I have been terrified to say. Things I have been terrified to face. Well I said it. I faced it. And you know what? I've never felt more liberated in my entire life. It was like running naked across a park except with my emotions. I'm lucky the park in question was kind and let me run around naked as long as I needed. It felt amazing. I don't think I will hold anything back. Ever. From now on. It felt too dang good. To emotional nudity, cheers.

i am a song...a giant, massive, infested, song....

I have worked out so many of my feelings through writing music lately. Seriously. Who needs a therapist when you can slink away into a world of ivory keys and thudding chords? Lyrics run through my brain faster and more often than average conversation. I find myself thinking in lyrics constantly. This has many downsides...such as answering the register-lady at Wal-Mart in rhyme or alliteration...and humming like someone who has forgot their meds as I walk into work...or treasuring old receipts that I have used to capture my thoughts because my songbook is too full...And sometimes I even have one on one dialogue with myself through music...slightly crazy? yes. But helpful to my over all well being and emotional robustness? Very.

I seriously, seriously have to raise my glass in thanks for the song of today where I reside :-)

ps. working on the demo. Its REALLY happening. Like. Really. And I have been SWEATING my blood through some re-writes that I hope will pay off.

mysteries of said universe

WHAT is falling in love?

This has been discussed, dissected, poet-ic-ized-ed, music-a-fied since the dawn of the ages.

I have a collection of theories and thoughts. In no particular order I give them to you.

Falling in Love:

Having faith enough in another person to give them your heart.

Letting yourself feel too much, too fast and face planting in the end.

Breaking down your own walls to not only let in, but let out.

Thinking be damned. Feel it.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Fearless. Fearless. Fearless.

Not knowing for sure...but daring to go there anyway.

You cannot choose love necessarily, but you cannot feel love without becoming vulnerable, and you do choose who you are vulnerable to. So choose to be vulnerable. Better to feel the start of something, the hurt, the disappointment ... then to never feel at all. You can never feel the fullness of love without risking the sorrow. So risk. Risk it all.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Fearless. Fearless. Fearless.

And this post is utterly pointless except to help me explore song writing options. ha. Wow. WOW.

smiling when it hurts

Sometimes I want to run away. As I walked on stage tonight for my bow in Singin' in the Rain I felt the strong need to run. I didn't want to smile. I didn't want to sing. I didn't want to charm. I wanted to run. This has nothing to do with the wonderful experience of being in a show with my best friend and getting to know a whole new family, it has everything to do with the dissonance in my life.

Dissonance in music is one of my favorite qualities. I love the jagged way it can scrape at your soul with nothing more than a struck chord. I love how it sends chills down my spine and leaves a feeling of raw, unresolved promise.

But dissonance in life is hard to wade through. I think it can be the product of many circumstances, but it for me it is always internal. Something inside of me feels off.

I hate it. And the worst part is...I know where I need to turn. I know what I need to do. So why is it so hard? Part of why I feel like my soul is out of orbit with my body is all the change that is gripping at me, trying to pull me in a million directions, trying to tear right through me it seems. Change is hard. Necessary. But so hard.

Some thoughts as I drift in and out of after-show haze tonight:

I have so many unrealized dreams. Yet I have unlimited potential.

I have so many beautiful, good desires. And they never seem satisfied.

I have a handful of wishes I've been tossing in the same well since I was little. Nothings happened.

Do I need a different well?

I feel out of place. Everyone who has moved with me through life is moving or has moved on. And I still float, drifting along, grasping for anything to help me reach that shore where everyone I love seems to be.
How long will I float, I wonder? How long will I feel dissonant? How long until I can run away... because I can't stay floating here forever.

Dissonance is ironic. It has an intriguing pain to it. But without dissonance, the resolution of it would not exist. And that's the part I'm wanting. The song that's whispered its way through me the last few months has washed me in dissonance. I am ready for a beautiful resolution.

Sometimes I want to feel pretty

Sometimes I just want to feel pretty. You know the feeling. When I feel pretty I feel more. I feel deeper. I feel truer. When I feel pretty there is even more power in my words and more conviction driving my actions. Its great to do something great...but isn't it better to do it pretty? No, no no. Do not misunderstand. I do NOT mean 'pretty' pretty. I mean pretty. I don't mean how you look. I mean the feeling. The feeling of pretty.

Feeling pretty.

When a boy looks in your eyes and you know he sees past your outside pretty to your inside pretty.

Feeling pretty.

When a boy kisses you not because you are pretty, but because he wants you to feel pretty.

Feeling pretty.

When your world is falling apart and you still find the pretty.

Feeling pretty.

When you've conquered a fear and you look at yourself and see your new set of smiles because of the conquered fear.

Feeling pretty.

Being looked into. Not at.
Feeling pretty.

Waking up with the sun melting over your face.
I want to feel pretty.

this shall NOT pass

I have never really liked when people say, "this too shall pass." Not only is it a massive blanket statement that people seem to utter when they just can't think of something a little more empathetic to say, but I actually find the phrase ironic.

Things don't pass.

We never really leave people, or experiences...totally behind us.

We collect them. And we carry them. They become a part of who we are. Experiences, good or bad might fade in the distance, but they will always touch us, shape us, color us...and we carry those colors through life.

I have this theory that we are all colored by our past. This is not a negative thing. How else do we grow in life? How else do we find strength, faith, and kindness toward others?

Life can be hard. Some of the colors can be dark and muddy, but they are OUR colors.

I proudly wear the colors of my past. They make me who I am today.

If I could walk on the moon

If I could walk on the moon, maybe I'd have the perfect view
Of everything around me, the stuff and people that surround me
I could see the tears between the smiles
And I could feel the breaths between the tears
If I could walk on the moon, maybe I'd have the perfect view
I'd be far enough away, I wouldn't feel pain
But I could maybe see it, and then I could avoid it

Maybe I would see the truth.
Maybe I could see You.
You the way you really are, if only I could get that far
Away from you to see

But I'm trapped in gravity

I wish I could float through space
And I could see the world that way
I wish I could walk on the moon
Because then I could really see you

With all your shades of yellow and white
And all the real, the wrong, the right
And it wouldn't matter what I see
Or what I know, or if my heart was worn and used
Because I'd be safe and on my moon

face suck in the hospital parking lot. a whole lotta yuck

So yesterday I took my dear sister Rachel to the hospital. She has been deathly ill (for those who didn't know) and had a whole buncha scares yesterday. She was told possible kidney failure, blood clots, you name it...she could have it. Anyways, I went with her to the labs to set up an appointment for her blood transfusion.

All went surprisingly well. We kept our spirits up and as we were walking back to her car I spied a couple eating each others faces in the parking lot. Hardcore making out. The hospital parking lot. If hospitals don't make me sick enough, I had to witness a young angsty couple trying to procreate RIGHT before my eyes.

Rachel turned to me, and in usual Rachel fashion said, "Unless one of them was dying and just found out they are not any more, that is sick."

yes. plain sick.

Maybe they did belong at the hospital.

I've learned more about life this semester than perhaps any other. In some ways, it has been my most challenging semester. I have had a mix of 'easy' and extremely difficult classes. And in that mix came a break up with someone who proposed to me, and a new friendship with someone unexpected. Life has taken me to a place where I had NEVER seen myself. I have never felt more opposition, and I can't help but attribute it to the fact that I think I am close to some really amazing things. I will be performing in Singin in the Rain this summer, which is one of my all time favorite musicals. It has that potent ingredient of nostalgia for me. I love the time period of the story, I love the dancing, I love the music...I love the rain. Everything about it. I love how I watched it over and over with my dad growing up.

I am also working on my very first demo cd this summer. I have written some songs that are cut straight from my soul, they are very real and raw for me, and I am so excited about producing something so honest.

I have a book coming out this September (crossing fingers I can revise my little heart away in time). A book. A BOOK!!! I am so very excited about this. It was always a dream of mine to publish something BEFORE I was done with college.

Thanks to my new friend, who happens to be a boy, I have learned SO very much about relationships, communication, and that there are people out there, specifically men, like me. I have discovered that wanting a man who actually supports my dreams and in fact believes in me is something I can have. I can have that. I was used to relationships where 'convention' was the only path and my dreams came second. I was used to relationships where I didn't even feel connected, and I foolishly attributed that disconnection to the fact that we were just men and women and would forever be DIFFERENT.

Now I know there are men out there made of the same cloth, stitched with the same thread, and constructed loosely like myself. And knowing that feeds me with hope.

I've learned this semester that its okay to dream. Its okay to hope. Its okay to feel. Hurt. Happiness. Pleasure. Its okay to let someone in. Its okay to let someone go. Its okay if I don't do everything the way "everyone else does it." I'm doing it the way I've always wanted.

I've learned Me this semester. A strange, slippery, random subject that is still a blank field and I still have so much to learn, but at least I took that first course.

Skimming the Surface

There are two ways to go through life. You can skim or you can swim. I think I used to be a skimmer...floating over ideas and situations, barely touching them so that they could NOT touch me, but recently I have been a swimmer. Diving deep. Swimming to places that are foreign and cool and bumpy to touch, but full of life and adventure. I know that if I want less scrapes and scars I should skim, drift above it all and just take in the view. But I'm not afraid of the scars anymore. I'm not afraid to sink to the bottom just so I can experience that rush when I shoot back to the top. I'm not afraid to swim. I want to touch and taste things that scare me. I want to FEEL life instead of just look at it. I am feeling braver day by day, and I swim deeper with every breath I take.

Finishing this semester is going to be a deep swim. Tough and full of late nights and skull cracking headaches- but I'll get there. Watch me :-)

sheer happiness....a little bit in love

a kiss in the rain among other things

My entire life I have had this strong desire to kiss someone in the rain. You know the picture. Girl in a whimsical dress, Hot Guy pulls her in at the waist, rain shimmers all around them like falling stars from Jupiter. A cool picture. A picture found in many a film, poem, and song. I don't know what it is about the idea that appeals to me. In reality rain is wet and cold and not exactly something you want to dance around in...unless you're Gene Kelly. He made it look good. But I'm not Gene Kelly. I'm just a girl who wanted a kiss in the rain.

And I got one.

Last week.

He kissed me. In the rain.

I wasn't wearing a whimsical dress...in fact my attire was Sunday dress and boring choir-required-clothing because I'd just participated in the CES General Broadcast Choir. But I was in my cute tailored black coat from Nordstrom. The rain wasn't sloshing down like it did in the Notebook...but it did shimmer and slip like tears...cool tears that made trails all over my face and scalp and body...and even though it was wet and cold (I'm always cold outside at night, even in August) it felt GOOD.

Kissing in the rain felt good.

I think I'll do it again. Next time it won't be the soft, silver, blanketing rain. It will be torrents that pulse and drown and swallow us. That might be cool.

Until my Next kiss in the rain this one will be my Only.

xx

I used to be.

When I was in fourth grade I had an overripe curiosity about crime. I attribute this to my obsession with Nancy Drew novels. I still remember my first experience slipping away into the world of Nancy and Ned, of hidden stairways and lockets and notes that all were clues to solving the unimaginable. I remember the smell of those books, like stale paper and library all packed in one box from a garage sale my mom dragged me to. I remember looking at those yellow hardback covers skeptically when she told me I would love them. But when I settled into my first read, I was hooked. Not only did I devour Nancy's tales, I found I had to have more. Soon I had collected the Nancy Drew Cookbook, and was making "Scary Nests" for breakfast in the mornings. But that still wasn't enough to sate my appetite. I wanted to BE Nancy Drew. Wanted it so bad that I looked at my permed hair and unfortunate teeth in the mirror dreaming up ways that I could get that 1960's bob and perfect smile. Before I knew it I was finding crimes to solve. Everywhere I went was a piece of trash that must be a clue to solving the most recent kidnap case (whatever the case was at the time). I collected litter like a socialite collects sapphires. I cherished broken pieces of glass and random shoelaces like a bag-lady clings to her ten cats. And it wasn't enough I embarked on my mystery-solving, crime-fighting sprees alone. After all, didn't Nancy have a posse? I dragged my sister and friends along with me. It got so bad I even started the "Nancy Drew Club" at school.

There were rules. Not just anyone could be in the "Nancy Drew Club." You had to read a Drew book a week, and make at least one meal from the cookbook a week as well. And if you weren't bringing us new trash to comb through...well...you could forget about staying in the club.

Little did I know that starting the Nancy Drew Club would land me in TROUBLE. And not the good, crime-solving kind.

One day my beloved fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Cruiser, took me aside.

"Jennifer, I heard you started a club."

I grinned. "Yep."

"That's not allowed. Clubs cause division in classes. I've heard some students feel left out."

What? I was getting scolded for fighting crime? For ridding the world of litter? My oversensitive, never want to let people down heart started quivering. Along with my lip. And tears started coming down my cheeks. I WAS IN TROUBLE?

Nancy had let me down.

The club was abolished.

And I was left to find trash on my own, to solve all the worlds problems alone.

But I didn't let Nancy down. I continued re-reading my bibles in mystery fighting and secretly continued my efforts.


*Footnotes*

Things I witnessed while "spying"

1. A naked grandpa walking across his living room.
2. A lady who liked to kiss her cat on the mouth. Alot.
3. The kid who practiced piano excessively.
4. A whole lot of white space.

I'm lost in the carnival

I walked through the luke-cold air outside today at campus and noticed a guy sitting under a tree singing. He didn't have a guitar, and upon closer inspection he wasn't even 'plugged in'. He was a retro-scrubbed-hippie with worn moccasins and the attitude of an owel. Now, he might look crazy to most, but I couldn't help but send him a smile. Nothing happened as I passed- he kept singing and I kept walking. But my day changed. Suddenly I was shimmering like a fallen sequin through a carnival. Everybody and everything I saw was suddenly garishly appealing in the daylight- exposed, real. That guy singing out loud with no abandon surged me with the urge to be fearless. To sing my own musical. I love days that are full of music. Today was one of those days.

I have to admit that my recent breakup has been EASIER than I ever dreamed it could be. I attribute this to carnival days and dreamy nights and of course the gospel. I don't feel alone in the carnival...I feel dazzled.

I hope to have another carnival day soon :-)

playing around with lyrics

I don't believe
you get one chance
and once its past- its gone
I don't believe you get one dance
and you lost if you get it wrong
I do believe our dance has made us dizzy
And for awhile now my head and heart
have been spinning

So you tripped over my heart
the second we fell apart
It hurt, I admit for a moment
A moment that lasted too long
Sometimes I'm caught, still lost in our song
But the music still calls to me
I'm shaking, but I'm standing
Unsteady but brave I take another hand
I'm not afraid to dance again.

Who said you get one
Once Upon a Time?
I believe in one happy ending
But once upon a times
I think you get at least
a dozen times
I'm shaking but I'm standing.
I'm gonna get my ending.

You can't count the raindrops

I have lived by a code of 'never get too personal' on my blog, facebook, and on my rare tweet. Sure, I will explore feelings about situations I may be experiencing, but very seldom do I explore the actual details--the nitty-gritty. Tonight, my friends, I must explore. I must explore because my heart is bursting at the seams with the need for it. So even though I don't want to necessarily share what should be private, I will try very delicately to sift through the havoc that has been wreaked on my heart.

Three weeks and two days ago my best friend proposed to me. It was a little left field, because we hadn't dated in a year...but I did not doubt his intentions in getting back together (I wasn't entirely sold on the marriage thing, but I figured we could ease back into a relationship). If someone gets down on one knee...it should mean something. Now, admittedly he was extremely emotionally charged as was I, but aren't most people swimming in emotions when they are down on one knee?

Tonight...we are both single.

Tonight...we are two best friends separated.

I sit here in a mess of tear-streaky mascara and a pile of tissue as I try to work out WHAT went wrong. I have figured out a few things.

One. It doesn't matter how brave I am...if HE isn't brave, or willing to fight...we've lost the battle.

Two. Life sucks sometimes. As does love.

Three. I hate to admit this, because I have fought my whole life against it, but I think I have finally lost faith in 'love'. In dating. In romance. In relationships. Walls are creeping up all around my heart at an astounding rate and I pity anyone who tries to penetrate their necessary-born-sturdiness.

I guess I've learned the answer to one of life's questions: why no, men and women CAN'T just be friends, or even best friends...the sex part (as I quote When Harry Met Sally) ALWAYS gets in the way.

I'm sure after a box of sleeping pills, a pore-cleansing mask, some sour patch, and a good facebook clean out I will be feeling better.

sifting through stuff

Sometimes I wish I had a crystal ball so that I could see into the future. Maybe if I could I would know how I am SUPPOSED to handle what I am feeling right now. I feel like I am wading through a sea of glass, sifting through the litter of my own analytical thoughts as I try to find out what I am suppose to do. I am sure about some things. I know that the Gospel is true, and I know I can find answers through prayer. I know I am where I'm supposed to be- at school, in church, working, writing- And I'm there.

But its hard to feel peace when my heart is left fluttering up above me, attached to a flimsy kite string as I try haphazardly to pull it through a lighting storm.

I can't see anything from where I stand as I look up at the clouds that have swallowed my heart-kite, but I finally think I am brave enough to let go and give someone else the string to my kite... the key to my heart. Almost anyways.

Almost.

Until I have surrendered to the storm I hold fast.

I will keep my kite safe for you.

much love.