1 week! ... kind of

Here we are, a few hours after ... what would be a week. Due to some concerns voiced by the mama bear and a few professors, I ate dinner Friday night. Regretted it almost immediately; word to the wise, don't eat Chinese on an empty stomach.

"Effective immediately, 9 additional faculty and 1 staff member positions were removed from their respective lists, further reducing the total impacted positions from the original total of 44 to 21 (12 faculty and 9 staff). We also recently received and accepted a letter of resignation from a valued faculty member which is included in this retrenchment," said an email from President Hendricks last Wednesday.

With great pleasure, I would like to announce that the Political Science department has been saved. At least, as far as we know. The list of professors isn't a public file for some reason and I emailed President Hendricks trying to find out why but have yet to hear anything in response. He's a busy man, I understand.

I will be taking $40 to the presidents office tomorrow thanks to those who have purchased their shirts from the first order; Nancy Russomano, Dr. Dettwiler, Aryn Hedrick, Zach Johnson, Kalen Honeyfield, Bryan Mahosky, Kelly Raleigh, and Sarah Mirabile. Anyone who is interested in a SAVE THE PROFS t-shirt, write names and sizes on the Facebook page listed below. They are $5 and the funds will go to scholarships for students.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/532727073469451/

"What they did not want you to ever find out is that your generation, the generation born between 1980-1995, actually outnumbers the Baby Boomers. They knew that if you ever turned your eye towards political reform, you could change the world. They tried to keep you sated on vapid television shows and vapid music. They cut off your education and fed you brain candy. [...] We as a society are only as strong as our weakest link. Give 'em hell, kids."

Flashlight newspaper

Well, guys, it's day 4 of the hunger strike and going much better (healthwise) than I imagined. The story was published in this weeks Flashlight, which is Mansfield University's newspaper, written by Bryan Mahosky.

Every day my tummy grumbles a bit more and more but it's worth it and brings me happiness knowing that I'm standing up for what I believe in. It also comforts me that, as the process continues to progress, I'm reminded that I'm not alone in the fight as many students and faculty have commented positively (and a little worried) on the hunger strike.

In my previous post there is an explanation of why I'm doing this if you have yet to read it and I'm going to post below in this post the Flashlight article.

Electronic Media student protests retrenchments

By BRYAN MAHOSKY

Editor-in-Chief

Mansfield University student Chelsea Simmers, 23, started a hunger strike to protest the retrenchment issue the university is facing.

     Simmers began her hunger strike on the morning of Monday, Nov. 18. "My last meal was a sausage bagel at 11 p.m. on Sunday," she said.

     "I tried to think of the most drastic thing I could do," Simmers said. "At this point it has to be drastic. I'm looking for acknowledgment - not pity or money - just recognition that [the retrenchments] are going on."

     Simmers has been active in other events to support the professors and programs that are in jeopardy. She has made newscasts, travelled to Harrisburg to lobby legislatures with 83 other Mounties, rallied outside of Straughn when the chancellor arrived, and is selling t-shirts to raise money for scholarships via a Facebook page.

     "The shirts are being put off until next semester due to everyone having tough schedules at the end of the semester," Simmers said. The shirts cost $5 to be made, and student Matthew Dishler donated the amount for the first batch of 25 shirts. Simmers is selling them to the university community for $5 each, and has sold about 25 to 30 so far.

     "We're working out a deal to buy them in bulk for $2 a shirt, so we'd get $3 per purchase towards scholarships." To learn more, visit the open Facebook group titled "SAVE THE PROFS." There are currently 314 members in the group.

     "When I visited Harrisburg, I got this feeling that no one really cared," Simmers said. "Yes - [the legislatures] sympathized with us, but I learned we're really on our own."

     Simmers said she was disappointed and lost hope after not only the trip to Harrisburg, but after the chancellor's visit as well. During his visit, the chancellor simply tried to save face for the duration of his speech, and then gave roundabout answers, while concurrently attacking students, during the public Q&A, according to Simmers.

     "I feel abandoned," Simmers said. "It shouldn't be this way and wouldn't be this way if people knew about the issue."

     "Our legislatures and higher-ups are supposed to support us - that's why we elect them. They aren't for us at all," she said. "I'm an avid voter which is why it pisses me off."

     Simmers plans to do this "however long it takes." Her ultimate goal is to have more attention brought to the issue, and for the government officials to say "you're not alone and we're here to help," even if it's not necessarily financial help.

     Simmers is now living off of a concoction that consists of water, maple syrup, lemon juice, and cayenne pepper. This is commonly used for fasting to give people the protein without having to eat, she said.

     "I will be keeping track of my progress on my blog with weekly updates," Simmers said. Her blog, "As Good as it Gets," can be found at shanesimmers25.blogspot.com.

     The hardest part for Simmers will be giving up food. "I love food. I'm worried about not eating," she said. "I've never fasted before so it will be a challenge, but it's something that I care enough about that I'm not backing down."

notice of my personal protest

Disclosure to start off;
To those of you who make it to the end, I have two things to say; 
1, I applaud you. 
2, Don't worry, I won't be passing out in classes. I'm researching the healthiest way to attempt this protest

When I see the education systems failing, I instantly see the world collapsing around us. But it's almost as though there's a cover over the ground so you can't see it happen until you're falling through the cracks. Education is an art; it's something that is rarely similar and largely personality.

I transferred to Mansfield University in the Fall of 2012 from the Art Institute in Nashville, Tennessee and I couldn't have been more proud, excited, or pleased with my decision to do so. Not only have the professors and other staff made this past year and a half one of the most life changing experiences, but the students that I have been graced in knowing give me hope for the future. As a communication department, we truly are a family. Even as a state school in general, we are a family and have been standing together the best we can when it comes to the better of our education, professors, and future as a whole. But our legs and minds are growing weary.

I want to introduce you to my department; Communications at Mansfield University. I haven't yet had the privilege of being taught by all of the professors in my department but the ones whom I have worked with, have helped me grow into the person I am today. Chuck Hoy is heavily involved in campus organizations and is widely recognized and well received by students of all majors. He's the professor who will come into an 6:30 night class dancing and singing in front of nearly 80 students with pure enthusiasm just to try to wake us up. Dan Mason's passion for his field in journalism gives hope to students who know it's a medium in our industry that is falling fast but is still a vital organ of an informed and aware society. Gary McIntyre has a way of making the radio and sales exciting even if someone, like me, thought they'd never want to work in that division of the industry. His dry humor and willingness to laugh at himself make him the quintessential grandfather of our department. Leroy Wright has a simplistic and connected way of teaching even the most difficult classes of our department so that each student can break it down to its simplest form and truly understand the subject. He was also on the board of directors when I was up for academic probation in the Spring of 2013 and since has restored hope in myself that I lost sight of.

Last but definitely not least; I have a certain heartstring pulled when it comes to James Lohrey, who is currently on the retrenchment list. When I first came here he wasn't a professor that stood out to me even despite the fact that he was my advisor. I hadn't had many classes with him until the spring semester and, with my lack of motivation at the time, accompanied by the fact that he isn't the type of professor to go out of his way for someone if he doesn't see effort on the receiving end as well, I didn't find my defining moment with him until the end of the semester.

Like a teenager with their parents, I convinced myself that my professors had failed me. In the midst of the emotional cycle, I had even been contemplating a change of major. Communication and media have been subjects that I've loved since high school and last semester was a moment of not remembering why I fell in love with them in the first place; to institute change.

I'm not longer a teenager so shortly after my emotions subsided over the devastation of the semester, I came to terms with the fact that I had been the one who had stopped trying. Lohrey sent me an email not long after I had started voicing my com major questioning that restored so much for me in myself. It was simple and short yet powerful in time and context. I took a screen shot of it and held it as my background for a while, reminding myself it wasn't too late to turn things around, that this was something I loved and it deserves every ounce of my respect and effort.

I was a catalyst of a piece of that same change I thought media was meant to trigger. Proving to myself this semester that communication can make a difference. I held onto that hope on October 16th when I walked up the steps onto the bus at 6am to travel with fellow students and professors to our state capitol, Harrisburg. We were notified early on in the semester of the budget deficit we're facing but the looming monster in our closets seems to continue to grow as each day passes with no sign of help anywhere.

We were going to lobby with Senators and House Representatives and later hold a press conference in which different legislatures and a student from Mansfield were to speak at on behalf of the issues that the PASSHE system is facing. Following the conference, the Mansfield choir sang five songs that expressed a different measure of importance to our pleas for help. I spoke with Senator Gordner and Representative Tim Hennessey who both pretty much told us that, yes, they sympathize but what are they supposed to do about it? "Your school wants funding? Well, people in hell want ice water," said Hennessey. He was also quoted to saying that "It doesn't matter if John Smith or Jane Doe teaches the class," when asked if he had ever had a specific teacher who influenced him. I am here to say, first off, that is your job to help support education and, second off, I beg to differ and am living proof. If that wasn't degrading enough to experience, we later came to learn that the "press conference", in all actuality, had no news coverage attendance.

We trudged back onto the buses at the end of the day feeling drained and defeated, wondering if we should have just gone to classes instead.

I edited the footage from the day in Harrisburg, posted it online and was even more devastated at the less than 10 views all three videos combined have received since. Dropping back into the shadows of the issue for a while to focus on classes, I festered over what might help Mansfield and other PASSHE schools. Not too long into thought, Chancellor Brogan was announced to be attending the University to talk about the issues at hand and I was back out filming a video to inform everyone of the upcoming event and chance to speak our minds and maybe make some progress. Apparently when Chancellor Brogan comes to town, though, progress means him talking about his family and the weather for 45 minutes of the hour that he was there for and transitioning to his efforts in Florida with an ending of "answering" only 3-4 questions. Defeated, once again. Why we thought it would be an open dialogue to actually express our thoughts, I'm not sure. Why we thought he would come with a message of hope, I'm not sure.

Since then, I have again fallen back into the shadows of the deficit and focused everything on classes. In doing so, I'm reminded of the pain I feel when I think about the professors who will no longer be here in semesters to come. That I will have to change my advisor when I lose the one I have. That class sizes are only going to get bigger and less interactive which is heavily relied upon in the communications department. That tuition will continue to rise and college, too, will soon be a big ballers game only. That my department will never be the same. That this University will never be the same. That we aren't the only ones starting to fall through the cracks of this educational earthquake. Education will never be the same.

Hope is given by these professors in their encouragement even in the most trying of times. When we don't believe in ourselves, our professors are there to help remind us why we love what we do, whatever it is, and that we can change the world if we try and work together. Each professor is a vital source of our, if you will, educational protein.

So through this hope and this deprivation of vital nutrients, I am announcing the beginning of my educational awareness fast that will begin Monday, November 18th. I will continue on with my days, go to classes, complete my final projects, achieve the grades I know I can attain and do so in the company of the people who inspire me every day. Do not receive this as a threat. I hold no ransom. We do, however, deserve proactive solutions and we shouldn't have to stand alone in doing so. We deserve recognition of this devastating time that we're in, as we grow thinner every day.

This hunger strike is a demonstration of each professor on this campus, other campuses, and teachers in the k-12 districts who have either already lost their jobs or are currently facing the possibility of retrenchment. This protest is to you, our elected officials, who are supposed to help create an education that will help better the future. You, who we elect in hopes of representation of the things that we think matter most. This is a giant yellow highlighter on the fact that you are failing us and leaving us to fight this alone. This is awareness.

A wise person once said, "If you're not pissed off, you're not paying attention."

~~~

I wrote this on Friday November 15th, posted it to my Facebook wall, and sent it out to countless newspapers and news stations. I also sent a short address to the President via the government webpage. If it will reach his eyes, I'm not sure and decently doubtful. I have yet to receive any form of response via email from the others I've contacted which, again, doesn't much surprise me. It's early on in the process so I should hold to my patience. I suppose it's my emotional tie to the issue that makes me prone to feeling the needles I'm sitting on. The needles we're all sitting on, even if we don't notice them right now. Time is anything but what we have. It seems as the semester is already almost at a close and we've barely scratched the surface since everything was announced to the public. 

I went out to Walmart yesterday with a couple friends to accompany. The goal was lemon juice, pure maple syrup, cayenne pepper, and socks. Granted, the socks were a last minute realization of need. Measuring, mixing, pouring, and filling the fridge with 14 water bottles of the protein drink I discovered while researching the healthiest way to approach the fast. Again, the socks are for my feet, not the mixing process. *pee yew* Ask my roommate about it, she understands. Although, thinking about it, I probably should have picked up measuring spoons while I was at it. And toilet paper. Don't judge us, we're busy, successful, free-thinking college kids.

So day one is tomorrow and I'm up far too early for my own good. So I'm off again, back to the sack. Hopefully I'll beat the sun.

this hope

If I could, I would raise you to admire the strength of lonely.

There was a person I used to be.

Someone who loved with every pore exposed.

I found the shore of despair and, in it,

the island of overcoming.

If I could, I'd teach you the simplistic treasures

and that everything comes in its own time.

I wanted to race

but I could never remember where the finish point was.

All the lines blurred

so I ran faster.

The wall that built me

turned me into a pile of rubble.

My pace slowed 

and I realized something;

even in the cause of loneliness, 

there is a silent strength

that will hopefully one day pave the road

to a better truth.

It is this hope.

don't be afraid ...

to follow the discourse.

You've really only got two options here. You're going to fail miserably or have the best time of your life. Are you willing to risk the fear of something bad for the possibility of something good? Every moment in life is based on yes and no answers. Imagine you're sitting at a stop sign, gripping the leather beneath your palms; looking left, right, left ... then right, then straight, then back to left. Sometimes you'll have 3 different ways to go, sometimes 4 or 5 even. Then sometimes you come to a dead end and have to turn around. Which way is going to take you to the other side? And maybe all of them will lead to the other side, but the view will simply be different.

Have you ever looked back on your life and thought, "I'm ok with the mistakes I've made. I can handle the cuts and bruises because each one of them is a testament as to the fact that I'm still here. And each has their own story and lesson." You didn't get on a bike and know how to ride it right away. You had training wheels and the wind in your face, then your dad's encouraging assistance and a wobbling front tire, and finally, you reach the point when you never forget how to do it on your own.

I look at the people I've encountered at different points in my life and wish it hadn't been only a learning experience; that I wish my mistakes and theirs didn't mean the end all be all but how else would we learn? Every path has a different outlook and outcome; it's better that way. It's a constant battle of wanting to move forward to further yourself and falling back to what you already learned from. 

No, you're not always going to understand the reasoning behind the madness of your own decisions but you're always going to come out with a new perspective. Life is about experience, about learning by doing both the good and the bad things. 

"A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool."

one day to empty your head

A lot has happened this past semester. I feel as though I use that phrase a lot when I write; "a lot has happened." I guess it is true that life doesn't stop moving. Constantly growing, changing, learning, and loving every minute of it. As a very smart fortune cookie once told me, "Be optimistic. There isn't much use being anything else."

She moved here and it was beautiful while tragic. Love is always an adventure and takes us down many different paths of life.

Mustache party, braiding Say-zar's hair to get that perfect 80's hair metal look, decorating cookies into astronauts, carrots in the ceiling, my acceptance letter as a Resident Assistant.

Snakes on the path, celebrations, four wheeling adventures, graffiti to change the world, star gazing during a meteor shower, ridiculous signs at the church and embroidery shop, learning the two step to country music.

Birthdays, painted faces, superhero impersonations, compliments, rejections. Adventures before, during, and after formal. "We're going to gangnam!"

Sleep, no sleep, stress of final projects, a duck by the elevator, concerts, mexican hats, pictures while you make a toilet, playgrounds, hospital, fights, kisses, eleven, cigarette breaks, helping Mike back to his bed from the back parking lot, deep and meaningful conversations (at least in the moment), narwhals, premium quality, and graduation.

I wouldn't trade it for anything. I'm on a continually changing path, sometimes back and forth a few times before the real forward thrust.

If a movie is a pleasure to the eye, it did its job for the ratings. If a movie is a pleasure to the emotions, it did its job for the heart. I lost my way a bit this past semester. Without my friends and mentors I probably wouldn't be as confident to move forward as I am right now. Sometimes you get knocked down and it's a hell of a fight to get back up every once in a while but it is more worth the effort than I think I could put into words. I will keep my head held high and expect nothing but my best, whatever that is. Because that is enough for me. If I know that I've worked hard, even if I don't get the results I wanted, the only person I truly need to succeed is me. The only person I truly need to be proud of me is the person I see in the mirror.

Elephants are beautiful, majestic. The most great of all animals. They are Gods. They have many things to thank the creator for, no? We go further and further into space; no life. And we, as the most intelligent, the fortunate, have the audacity to question. I've seen elephants cry but do they pray? Don't worry, it's not a question to answer but to think about. Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination.

in my minds eye

 

British literature accompanies you tonight. Thoughts of the victorian era, Jane Austen, and your greasy hair.

Dirty hands, stained blue for 3 days with fan art. A cracked guitar and a leaf are your weapons of mass illusion. Despite my childish pout, you're hiding some more kindergarten expressions with ivy league ideas. Ideas you call to, preach to, plea to.

Your absence is a dark cave I haven't crawled from in days. Waiting for you to throw a rope, fashion a ladder, open your barred words to the light.






Food is scarce in such a dreary place, though gardens surround my blind eye for miles.

wishing on eyelashes and shooting stars

She took my hand and with a tilted gaze, spoke with courage. I wanted to throw myself underneath those sheets and close my eyes like a child playing hide and seek. If she can't see me, she can't throw me away. Like the trash overflowing the corner of the workspace in her apartment. The stained wooden floors taken over by discarded papers, water bottles, and broken hearts. I entered her world like a good idea that she later realized was a drunken mistake. Fill the glass to the top and she'd still argue it was only half full. Silly man, that's not optimism.

We wished on stars and eyelashes. Now every time an eyelash falls, I push it to the floor because it makes me feel dangerous. I feel like she'd cry if she witnessed it. Which would make me smile because then I'd know that those nights meant something to us both. Shoot down the stars with my nerf gun, hoping they explode before they enter her atmosphere. Standing on top of that mountain was supposed to make me feel immeasurable. Yet aiming my gun at her dreams made me feel about as big as an ant beneath a giant boot.

Her bare skin left an imprint in my brain. Like plastic forks against a foam container. Running her hands up my legs made my throat clench and my eyes open wide. Feeling her breath next to my ear made the hairs on my neck stand at attention.

Let me buy your love with nickels and dimes and you can use the flower petals as my receipts. Laying naked on the floor we rolled onto, smoking the cigarettes you swear you aren't addicted to. Yet there is the lighter; barely any fluid left and marks against the sides from the walls you introduced your anger to every time you lit up.

You talked of your open sexuality and compassionate beliefs like it was supposed to make me feel like your boyfriend shouldn't care about what we shared in every room of your apartment. Exchanging bodily fluids in the most animalistic ways. Grasping each other like if we dug our nails deep enough, we'd never have to part. Maybe that just made it easier to say goodbye for you. Made it alright.

Will he notice the love notes I wrote in the steam of the bathroom? You'll probably tear them down and go buy whole new mirrors.

we are the product.

She stomped on it. Made you think it didn't matter. Made you think you didn't deserve better. You resented her for it just as much as I did but we kept our silence. That's what we were told to do. Observe but keep your fucking mouth closed. Duct taped and strapped to the morals. Forget your own, adopt the other. 

I took scissors and a razor to my head that night. Wanted to strip myself completely. Feeling the crisp clip as the strands float to the floor, I began to feel lighter. Putting the cool edge of the razor to my head, I finally found the significance of what it means to be singled out. Allowing that extra inch of difference, of desire. 

The way she splays herself in front of me makes me realize why I let myself fall into her. Our lips touching reminds me how to breathe and in that moment I'm suspended. She was the dragon, ripped clean, raw and natural. But in that room her layers dispersed to the corners of my mind and here she was in all her glory. Brilliant lights occupying her eyes as she gazed, shooting right through me, making me shiver. 

Hold it together, I kept telling myself. Don't shake or you'll make a fool of yourself. I'm a leaf, hanging from her limbs. Reliant and tossed aside when I get too old. That doesn't bother me though. I will sit here, absorbed in her grasp for as long as I can muster the courage for. She giggles because she knows come fall, I'll be fighting for my place among the rest.

They still scream, they still beat at her door. But we can't hear them anymore. I like it like that. Hidden in the confines of sheets and sweat and laughter. Just me and my dragon girl.

i am me

Maybe it takes me a little longer to learn a lesson. My reflexes are slow but I' try. I go through this process; make mistakes that I don't even understand, and then keep doing it subconsciously until I figure out what made me do it.

For as long as I can remember, my mistakes have been something of a battle to figure out and learn to control in the future. I'm not giving up the rubix cube of my idiocy. I will not give up on myself because I know I can do better. I know who I can be.

When you gave up, I took the reigns. When you stopped loving me, I started loving myself again. The people who see your mistakes and label you under them are the people who don't really know the truth of who you are.

"If you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best."

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm human and don't you dare underestimate me because once I'm done being an unintentional asshole, I'll be the best person you didn't really know.

dear daddy

I've realized lately that I worry a lot about what people think. Feel like people are judging me and my every move. I hate that feeling. I hate caring what other people think and am trying to change that but it's something I've always had. And it's always been our biggest problem.

You care a lot and want the best for me and I appreciate that. But your eye always seems so close. Don't do this or he'll freak out. Do this that way or you're going to get yelled at.

I get nervous to even see you but I always still have this deep clinging hope and excitement. I was so anxious when you last came to see me. Pacing the living room, watching out the window, mom watching me out of the corner of her eye. And then when you pulled in, I smiled. Couldn't help but feel it instantly across my face.

But not 5 minutes into the drive you're already ragging on me, cutting me down. I hate when you make me feel like that. When I feel like you're judging me my whole world is shaking. You called me a circus freak. Do you remember that? And then we drove. Not saying a single word to each other. I had no idea where we were going. We drove around for 45 minutes before you said another word to me. I just sat there repeating it. "Circus freak. Won't get a job."

And then what you did at OVI, my work. You walked out on your daughter before the food even got to the table and left a $20 there like you were just saying "fuck it". You walked out on me. You didn't even tell me you were leaving. I had to ask Angie where you had gone. I couldn't stop crying when I went back inside. Breathing hard, sobbing, trying to talk to mom on the phone. "Maybe this was a mistake." That stuck with me too.

When you call, I come running. I don't know if I'm ready to do that again yet. Thank you for helping me with my insurance. I wasn't going to ask because usually when you give me something or do something, there are usually strings attached. "If I do this, you have to do it my way." At least that's what it feels like. Which is why I was just paying for it myself. Which, in a round about way, was still trying to impress you. Look, I'm paying my bills. I'm taking care of myself. I'm doing this for me though.

I'm sorry. I'm just not ready.

I love you,
Chelsea

seasons of a smile.

It is April and we are a miraculous age. We came from very different places; I was a small town girl from the east coast and you were way too refined for me in your west coast ways. My county is about 866 square miles small while you lived in a small sidewalked town only three hours from San Fransisco. Although I did get you to jump off of that base in Tennessee by the dam when I went away to college for a year. The beads of water clinging to your tanned skin in the bright light that was slowly disappearing behind scattered clouds.  
   
     The first time you came here was for my sister's birthday weekend. We weren't even in a relationship yet. Everything was still so new; fresh and exciting. You looked beautiful with your thick blond hair pulled loosely into a bun. And the bright purple of your button up shirt left a hint to the spring air. My hair was still black from the dye I had insisted on a couple months back but you could see traces of my own blond coming through at the roots. You stayed at my mom's house and for some reason she let you in my room. We'd laugh later when we would look back on my grandmother listening to our indiscretion late at night and asking me about it by confessing she also likes women. Go figure that would end up being the same night I ask you to be mine.

     I spent spring break at your college. Fermenting alcohol in a watermelon would later be the death of your bladder and the brunt of an ongoing joke for at least another year. But I didn't mind. I was just glad it wasn't me who peed the bed. You were a little tougher than me and could take the joke. I stole your tegan and sara sweatshirt before I left and later replaced it with a shirt I made that had a sloppy drawing of a mountain and scrawled writing saying "you're pretty much the peak of the mountain." I figured it would be a good trade off at least until it started getting colder. Then we could share the sweatshirt.

     You swore you were going to marry Eminem while I was chasing after Meryl Streep. I think you had a better shot than I did. You were the girl that always had something interesting to say; I'd sit on the edge of my seat just waiting for you to breathe. The girl that, when I touched you, my subconscious couldn't help but create a mental map of every inch of your body so that I never forget the difference between how it feels to touch your hand as opposed to how it feels to touch your arm.

~

     Saying that we found each other in our innocence would be an understatement. But we were lost in the colors of our love. I would break it and then try in every way I knew how to put it back together. It was like a game almost. A game of learning weaknesses, pushing them, and then an attempt to rebuild it. We clashed for over a year like we were trying too hard to fit a mold that just wouldn't go. And my fascination with the mechanics that held us together was no help. I could only take it apart so many times before it became too mangled to put back together.

~

     We tried so many things to make our long distance relationship a little easier. I toyed with the idea of moving to close to your college and even interviewed for a few jobs. It finally caught up with us when I moved to Nashville and you graduated. Finally we got that shot and it lasted a month if that. I later asked if I had chased after the airport cab if you would have stayed. You said yes.

~

     It's April again and we're still at a miraculous age. But everything is different now. You changed me for better and for worse. They say every tear has its reasons and every smile has its own season.

functional dysfunctionality.

There's no more appropriate title for this post.

I just took probably 15 minutes and way too much over thinking trying to figure out how to write this. I don't want to go into detail. It's a little embarrassing. I haven't written in a while about what's been going on in my life. I need to ventilate it and maybe no one will read this because I'm not going to post it on Facebook and I don't know if anyone actually follows my blog anyway. Just needed a place for release and some mindless babbling and ranting in between.

So these past months of me being back in PA have definitely been anything but boring. A lot of changes are happening and I feel like I'm finally getting the hang of what I want in life and going for it head on. I also feel like there are probably multiple blog posts on here alone that sound similar to this one; I'm always talking about revelations and changing myself. It almost feels like bullshit.

I was so excited and sure and ready when I got accepted to the Art Institute in Nashville. I thought, "Man, this is it. This is my school." I was the one who watched as endless people just left and I always said that would never be me; I was going to graduate from there. I wore my shirt proudly. "Become an Art Institute graduate…or compete with one." Now it makes me sick when I want to wear it.

But things happen. Plans change, directions change, and sometimes people leave you hanging. So I'm not depending on anyone anymore. I'm doing this for myself; not for him. A state school is just as good and 10 times cheaper. Something I can afford on my own. Which he's still telling me I won't be able to; that I have no idea what I'm in for, that I have no clue and that one day I'll see that he was right.

yeah …

I have 2 schools picked out … meaning I have 4 and 2 that I realllllly want to go to. Bloomsburg, Cal U, Mansfield, and Temple; in order of desire. Not hating on Temple. Good school. I just don't know if I really want to live in Philly again and I'm not commuting. Ok, so I really don't want to go to Temple but it's nice to have a third back up. Hopefully I won't need 3 back up plans but we'll see. I have an awesome letter of recommendation from Leslie Haines  who is the chair of graphic design at AI and I had really good grades when I was there. High school … eh … I got ok grades.

I sent out the applications this past Tuesday, my transcripts and letter of recommendation on Wednesday and now the waiting begins. I may go nuts. I hate waiting. Ok, not waiting in general, but waiting for something really important to happen. It's a tough thing. In the meantime I'm going to continue to work at Ovi and save money to move and take care of the things that I need to take care of.

Right now I'm just living it day by day. Some are harder than others but most are pretty good. I'm trying to keep a smile on my face and continue moving forward.



I miss you.

going the distance and wiping the board.

"Come to the tree on the dirt road and we'll meet in the treetops," you used to say to me. "I'll be counting the leaves and branches while I wait." I guess you ran out of limbs. And all the leaves have fallen off. Walking towards the giant escape, I can clearly see you're not up there anymore but I continue walking. Maybe you'll be hiding behind the trunk, getting ready to jump out and yell "SURPRISE!" So I keep walking.

The dirt has turned to sand and my feet sink with each step; toes disappearing beneath me. I should have worn shoes. But you said bare feet were the only way to travel; it shows the real journey, every step of it. Roughness building up around my heels. I begin a light jog as I get closer. The tree grows bigger and my jog turns to a sprint. I'm running before I know it. The lady at the front desk of my middle school used to say I should have been on the track team. Will you stand at the finish line? Give me something to run to.

I reach the tree and survey the top. No sight of you. The leaves crunch beneath my feet. Proof I was there, you would say. I walk around the trunk. Again and again. But you're nowhere to be found. I guess you gave up waiting for me. Not that I blame you. Many seasons passed with no change but the leaves for indication. Call me a late bloomer. One leaf is still holding fast to a limb at the very top. So I begin to climb. It's my only hope. If I can retrieve it, maybe you'll know that I traveled the distance and sands of mistakes to return it to you.

I can hear your voice in the bark. Your mark left in the creases of each limb, each branch, each crevice. It gives me strength. My arms are weak and my legs are beginning to tire but I have to climb. The thought of you drifts in and out; like a strengthening memory, stronger and more visible each time.

I reach the leaf but it crumbles at my touch. Falls in tiny pieces to the ground. Too late, again.

A cry comes from overhead. I look up to see a brilliant hawk. As big as an airplane to my untrained eye. I watch as she sweeps to and fro. Higher and then shooting down like she's testing me. Begging me to get the courage. Swopping closer each time. I gauge her distance and wait for the right moment.

JUMP!

Clinging to her, my arms draped around her neck, body laying parallel to her back. Hold on tight. This was somehow easier than trying to climb the tree. Maybe because I don't know where she's taking me, where she will land. I'm putting all of the trust I have in her to carry me to where I'm meant to be.

We must have traveled for months. Drifting in and out of consciousness. In and out of sleep. You still linger in the questions I have. She begs me to hold on, not let go, keep the journey going. I would cling for a lifetime and pray for a clean slate.

 

 

"I disappear into the person I love. I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have it all; my money, my time, my body, my talk, my dogs money. I will assume your debts and reject upon you all sorts of nifty qualities you never actually cultivated in yourself. I will give you all this and more until I am so exhausted and depleted. The only way I can recover is by becoming infatuated with someone else."

- Elizabeth Gilbert

moving forward.

A lot has happened since I last blogged and I think I'm finally at a good point to get it all out there. After a very successful year at the Art Institute of Nashville I spend some time in Lawrenceburg, TN working at a state fair with an independent concession stand thanks to a good friend of mine. The money I earned there was the stepping stone of being able to take my travel to Arlington, VA where I planned on starting the new quarter at the Art Institute there. I spent a couple weeks getting to know the area and getting out applications for work and then took a trip again in October to Columbia, SC where I worked again with the same independent concession stand. The people I met both in Lawrenceburg and in Columbia will forever be in my heart. They are like family to each other and it didn't take long before I was welcomed into their circle. 

I met so many amazing people when I was in Tennessee and I will never forget any of them. We entertained ourselves with weekly kickball, cliff jumping and camping at the dam, tattoo parties, adopting animals (usually my fault … woops), partying like there was no tomorrow, midnight swimming, and enjoying every minute of it.

Being in Lawrenceburg especially made me reevaluate my life and what I want for my future. Family is such an instilled value of their lives along with hard work and a certain toughness that I hadn't experienced before. 

I was in Virginia until November 8th and ended up having to move back in with my mom and step dad and the girls. I was sitting in the room with everyone, making the last arrangements for my transfer when dad said it was too much and he was done helping with my loan. I tried negotiating a few different ideas with him but, in the end, it was time to just let it go. So I got a job in Morgantown and have been working on getting out of debt since I've been back. Hopefully everything will be completed in a couple months and I can revisit my journey in education. 

At first I wanted to look into schools that were close to home so that I could visit my family and friends whenever I wanted to. But after being back, I've come to realize with a heavy heart that there really isn't anything back here for me. I need to accept it and move on. I have a few really good friends who I know I can count on and who I want to be friends with for the rest of my life but most of the people I decided to surround myself with when I was in high school either were just the wrong people or have grown into people who I don't like or very much care for anymore. So much hate and vengeance and maliciousness that I don't want in my life if I'm going to continue moving forward. 

I'm starting over in a lot of different ways. Another way is that Julia and I broke up. My stomach feels sick when I think about it from time to time but it was the right thing to do. I've come to accept that we're not going to have what we used to have and she wasn't willing to work through what we still had so it was a lost cause. It was definitely time to say our goodbyes. 

So I've decided Canada, people. It's time for me to stop living for other people and finally live for myself. I'm going to take care of school on my own and start my life out in the world yet again. This is a start that I'm not used to though. One where I will have everything taken care of. One where I'm not leaving a mess in tow. One where I can truly refresh my mind and body and life in general. Cost of school in Canada is surprisingly less than it is in the states. What you pay for one year here, you easily pay for 3 years there. And, aren't I always saying travel is the best way to keep your mind fresh and vigor? 

the rebel side I get from my dad

The things that you know about yourself are easy to admit. Well, the ones that don't make you look bad at least. It seems so hard to just admit your faults. Like it makes you less of a person. But in reality it makes you a better person to know your faults and be able to admit them. But you still think about the ridicule. Why are we so afraid of what people think?

I see things in the world around me and in people that others may miss. This can be a blessing and a curse. I rely on my inner thoughts and feelings in dealing with the world around me. I've always looked more towards my own ideas and experiences than what I was told by my religious upbringing or from scientific evidence. I'm not bound by common, but love to travel and have new experiences. I enjoy intelligence, but also enjoy a challenge. I can be pretty argumentative when I'm being forced or feel as if I am being forced to conform. The rebel side I get from my dad.

I'm energetic, lively, and optimistic. I want to contribute to the world. The best way to get along with me is to give me companionship, affection, and freedom. Good conversation with a hint of sarcasm from time to time. Get just as grossly happy over my visions as I do and listen to my stories. Don't try to change me; I'm way too stubborn for that. Accept me the way I am. Be responsible for yourself; I don't like clingy or needy. Above all, don't tell me what to do.

I love being optimistic and not letting life's troubles get me down. The crazy spontaneity that life has to offer makes me think that anything is possible. I even indulge in the fact that I'm outspoken and outrageous. It's all part of the fun. I also love having the guts to take risks and to try exciting adventures. Whether it be a good or bad experience, it's a lesson nonetheless. 

But I don't have enough time to do all the things I want. I often don't finish things I start. I don't profit from the benefits that come from specializing; it's hard for me to make a commitment to a career. I have a tendency to be ungrounded and can get lost in plans or fantasies. 

And for the grand finale, as a parent I will probably have a mix of traits. Want my kids to be exposed to many adventures in life but I may be too busy with my own activities to be attentive.

Looking back on that, I just described both of my parents. I'm ok with that because it just means that I can do things right that weren't done right in the past. I can make myself better than them. I can also do everything they did right. And my kids will one day be doing the same thing. I hope they succeed. I hope I succeed. I know that everyone has to have flaws to make them human but even if I could just minimize some of them. Defeat a good majority. I think my kids will turn out alright.

ain't nothing in this world for free.

There are times were you're at the end of the day, sitting in a bath that took you an hour to just get set up, thinking about how you want to be reflective and write all these meaningful things about life but all you can think about is how you're a bad girlfriend and wondering how on earth the bath water is cold already. Probably because it wasn't warm to begin with and the fact that it's slowly draining doesn't help much. All you wanted was to relieve your cramps, reflect, listen to music, and maybe write a little bit. And now you're stuck. Despite all the things running through your mind, you know you can't say any of them.

How am I supposed to know if this is the right path? More water in the bath. Still cold. Just like your dad. Too big of a heart and a temper like a hurricane. Like your mom. Don't want a real job and so into the perfect family that you could be a 40's housewife. Nothing wrong with either of them. They're happy in life and make it work, one way or another.

An hour an a half later. Freezing, blank, and not tired in the least.

just a word.

Letters. Words filling the pages. Rummaging through the past, reliving all the mistakes. Seeing all the things that I have changed. How far I've come from then. I'm learning. Slowly but surely. If I could find the courage, I'd probably say ...

I'm sorry you were a rebound.
I'm sorry I ended up falling for you and then missing her.
I'm sorry you embarrassed me.
I'm sorry you didn't give a shit.
I'm sorry I thought what happened to you was a good thing.
I'm sorry we lived so far away.
I'm sorry I responded to your texts when you had a girlfriend.
I'm sorry you fell before I did.
I'm sorry for talking about her.
I'm sorry you were too skinny for me.
I'm sorry I couldn't get it out of my mind what you did to me.
I'm sorry I got scared.
I'm sorry I was with her when I was dating you.
I'm sorry there were secrets.
I'm sorry I lied.
I'm sorry I still think about you.
I'm sorry things got to that point.
I'm sorry you had to witness that fight.
I'm sorry I didn't help more.
I'm sorry I used you to make her jealous.
I'm sorry you couldn't even hold my hand in public.
I'm sorry you were psycho.

But mostly ...
I'm sorry I broke your heart.
I'm glad you're happy now.
I'm glad we both moved on.

do you remember?

Time changes a person. Actions, interactions, and experiences are all on the path we are traveling down. I'm alone right now. A few people might try to tell you different. I stopped trying to correct. Listen and you might hear your name. A friend once told me that sound travels when you pay enough attention. It's true.

Your eyes witness a tear but I'm only trying to save you. My bottle holds a simple message. A friendly warning. Chase my heart down a dark hallway and you will lose yourself. Protect your own for now. Stop trying to figure me out. I'm working on that myself now. I don't need you to define me; even if you do need it. I won't ever need you or anyone to define myself. If you're still convinced, you might need to reevaluate yourself. Look over your life notes. Have you done this in the past? You seem accustomed.

I'm numb to my own pain. And yours. This isn't like me. I don't seem to really give two shits about her either. When did this mask take its place around my face? Your wounds will never be as deep as mine. I'm the one conflicted. I'm the one who will be sure to suffer.

Karma is a regretful bitch and I just stole her last cookie.

too cold outside

They yell at her, blame her for the lead. She's playing cards and forgets how to add. He holds the king, the card she needs to get her release number. Sift through the deck. Hundreds of cards are before her. She sifts frantically, stopping long enough to kiss the lips and remember that's not her card. So they blame her for tears and a faulty hand. Try harder this time but she just gets farther from the truth. Movies remind her what she needs to do. She probably won't win the game but a train and new city will give her the king back. She's hopeful. Romantic. Pictures it perfectly. Standing across the street so that he can't see her. The first time she mutters a mans' name, feels foreign in her mouth.

Dry throat, scared girl, no certainty. But she wants to dive. They all say it's too far, too high, she won't survive. Knees shaking, crumbling beneath her. She stands across from him with no strength. It will end in more tears and he'll probably steal the rest of the deck from her when she's looking. But she has to know, see him.

Her throat chokes as his picture comes to the surface. Hasn't seen him since nineteen. She doesn't want to go outside tonight.