Friday, October 29, 2010

Thursday Happiness

Thursdays are great.
Thursdays are potato-soup-at-Hagermann's days. Thursdays are one-day-until-jean-day-Friday days.
Fall Thursdays are great. They're scarf days. Boot days. Glovey-mitten-ish days.
Thursdays are wonderful. Probably my most favorite of the days that end in Y.
Don't even get me started on how I feel about Fridays.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Monday, October 25, 2010


They headed out of the classroom and walked towards the elevators slowly. She captivated his attention, his eyes glued to her. She felt awkward but didn't show it. She just kept talking to him as she would any other friend or acquaintance.
Both slipped into silence as they approached the elevator, stiffly listening to the casual conversation of their peers.
Finally the elevator settled to the main floor. He was going left. She was going right. They continued talking until finally she mentioned she needed to leave. Hesitantly he asked if maybe she'd like to do something outside of class? Maybe they could do lunch sometime? Hope sparkled in his eyes as he stumbled over the questions.
Her smile froze to her face like it had so many times before in situations just like this. As he whipped his phone out to record her number, she automatically recited her digits, as if she were a robot. His fingers shook as he pressed the keys on his small phone.
Still shaking, he snapped the phone shut and stuffed it back into his pocket. She smiled her plastic smile and deftly wrapped up the conversation. They went their separate ways, both flushed and embarrassed. One excited and triumphant, congratulating himself on this new victory. The other terrified and wondering, "Wait, wait, did that just happen?" Worry clouded her head.
She stopped walking and looked over her shoulder. "But...I don't date," she whispered, her voice drowned out by the lively chatter of students filling the hall.
Her shoulders slumped and she continued to her car.
Now what?

Monday, October 18, 2010

I Just Might Be Losing My Mind

What to do, what to do?

I often give myself very good advice.
But, of course, I very seldom follow it.
But, often, I'm sure, it's not the best advice. I just make myself believe it's good advice at the time.
So perhaps it's not so bad that I don't follow it?
But maybe it really is good advice. And I just am too stupid to do anything about it.
I think so.

I just need to go crazy.
I need to forget everything.
I need things to just be normal for a bit.
I need to not care. Stop caring, Bonnie!
I'm starting to second-guess myself. I over analyze things.
I'm too insecure, but in reality I'm really okay with who I am. I love me. A little too much, probably.

(Stop, Bonnie, stop!)

And I think I just figured out my dream.
Thank you, life experiences, for sorting out my subconscious sleeping nightmares.
It's great, really.

I have this problem. I decide to care too much sometimes. It gets me into bits of trouble every once in a while. My brain thinks too much. I should really stop, I'm sure. I have this instinct where I just need to get away.
(Run, Bonnie, run!)
I just gotta get outta there before it's too late. Quit. Run away. Close myself off. See, it's better this way. Isn't it? I think so. Yes. Fight, dearest. Fight.
Run. Run for your safety. For your life. Your sanity. Your heart. Your entire being depends on the choice you make RIGHT now. How awful.

I'm going crazy. Don't worry, I've accepted the fact. I'm fully aware of it.
I just don't understand myself oftentimes.
No, no, no.
I need to get out of there. I need to run away. Follow that instinct. Do it!
But then.
Oh, wait.
There's that stupid little voice in the back of my head.
"Oh, Bonnie," it says. "Don't you want to give it a chance, little girl?" Of course I start to listen. Of course. With its sweet words and cleverly disguised fabrications. Of course. It wiggles into my brain and heart and almost convinces me. I almost consider.
Then that awful, sickening voice starts laughing. Cackling maniacally. Morphs into an ugly, evil little creeper.
"Yes, dearest," it giggles, its sweet voice dripping with poison. "Consider. Do it. Think. Think hard. Fall for it. Trust me. You'll be so much better. Oh. Wait. No. Who am I kidding? You'll drop like a rock in the sea. Straight into those dark, deep depths where no one but odd organisms reside. You'll fall. Fail. Painfully. You'll be broken again and again and again, and I'm going to watch it all. Fail! Go! Fall!" And then it starts laughing too uncontrollably to continue.
That's basically how it goes.
And then I fall.
And it happens again.
And again.
And again.
And then my fear takes over. The panic. The stress. The anxiety.
And I just. Can't. Think.
And I figure, isn't it better this way? Blissfully aware of the pain and frustrations of life? This way I can say, "Oh, no thanks. I've tried that before. I like my way instead. Go away."
I like that better.

Why is that, dear? Why is that?

Forgive my little outburst, dear. I'm just going a little crazy. It's okay. I'm over it. Not really, but I'll bottle it up better next time. You won't see it ever again.
My fake smile will be posted on my face and everyone will see me being just fine.
Maybe. But I'll know better.
I'm really dying inside, holding all these emotions, locking them up.
You won't see it.
But I know what's happening.

Friday, October 15, 2010


He sat at the instrument with his fingers resting lightly on the ivory keys. One foot was tucked under the bench while the other hovered above the pedal. He inhaled deeply, eyes closed, breathing in the moment. Concentrating.
A finger stroked a single key, debating on where to begin.
And then...
It started. Soft and hesitant at first, then gaining rhythm and momentum as his confidence waxed. His sure hands flew over the notes effortlessly, painting his work of art. He could turn a simple, naked melody into a masterpiece.
It was almost visible. The music. The sound. Almost touchable. Igniting images and memories that were personal to the listener and artist alike. It spoke to the soul. It penetrated.
It was beautiful.
It was brilliant.
How could one forget this moment?
Hours upon hours of diligent training had created this expert, never discouraged or willing to quit. Striving daily for excellence.
How fortunate we are that he never gave up.
The song slowed, waning, hinting at an end. He held his breath, almost hoping he could continue. He let the beauty sink into his chest, relishing it. At last he reluctantly struck the final chord, letting it ripple and fade in the dim room.
It was over. He slowly let his breath out in a slow sigh, listening intently as the sound faded.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

It's Not Me, it's You: A How-To on Perfecting the Art of Being a Sucky Date

Picture this: she's waiting anxiously, pacing around her apartment. She'll check her watch once, twice, and again. How late are you? Twenty minutes now? Great. You could have given some notice, but why waste your time with a simple, short, courteous phone call? She glances at the mirror once more to make sure she still looks as fantastic as she did the last time she checked (about fourteen seconds ago). Yep. You finally get to her apartment complex and call her from your car, letting her know you're there and would she please come out to your car so you don't have to park? You wait in your car, irritated that it's taking her so long to walk. Josh Groban blares from the speakers (she'll think that's so cool). She opens her own door and slides into the passenger seat.
Great beginning, right? Wrong. You suck at dating. But that's okay, you've accepted it. You're just awesome and it's okay to waste her time. She's isn't really happy about your tardiness, though, so you should probably make up for it by taking her to a really neat restaurant like The Mayan or Bombay House. But...those restaurants can be pricey. You're not really looking to spend too much dough tonight, so suggest that she order something small. That way the meal will cost less and she'll be left feeling self conscious. It'll be great. Even better, rush through dinner and snarf your food like an animal. Don't give her very much time to enjoy her food, even though it just might be delicious. Flirt with the waitress when she brings your check, and slip her your number on the way out. Your date will appreciate your suavity. Really.
Take your date to a really, really sucky movie. Forget to buy tickets in advance so you have to drive twenty minutes to a different theater. Try not to notice that she's trying really hard to impress you and make the night go well, despite your previous lack of tact. While watching the sucky movie, make repeated attempts to hold her hand, ignoring her repeated requests that you restrain yourself. Because, after all, what kind of a girl wouldn't want to hold your hand? You're awesome, and you make sure everyone knows it.
When the sucky movie finally ends, drive your date home in silence. Maybe you're contemplating the film. Maybe you're focusing on the road. Maybe you're tired. Maybe you just plain don't want to talk. She'll be trying her best to carry a conversation with you, but make sure she knows you're determined to make her feel as awkward as possible. One word answers are key, friend. Make her squirm. She'll loathe you. The thought will make you giggle inwardly with wicked delight.
A few blocks from her apartment, suddenly realize that you're running late for something. Drop her off at the Trax station, okay? Try not to show any concern about her impending hike home in the dark downtown streets. Just assume she'll be fine. Bad stuff only happens to other people, remember? The terrifying walk will just toughen her up. She'll thank you later. Don't call or text her later to make sure she got home safely, either. If something happens, you'll hear about it on the news tomorrow morning.
Be completely confident that your date went really, really well. So well, in fact, you should follow that stupid rule and wait at least three days before contacting the girl at all. Keep her in suspense. She'll like you that much more for it. I promise. Just be sure to talk to her at least once before the next time you see her. It'll be awkward if you don't.
Text her a few days later (notice I said to text, not call) and ask her if she'd like to go see another sucky movie next weekend. Be surprised when she turns you down, but accept her pathetic excuses of having plans with friends or going out of town for the entire weekend. Be very persistent and keep asking her out. Get really irritated when she keeps making excuses. Make sure she notices your irritation; be cold and indifferent. Eventually you should stop talking to her altogether. Ignore her when you see her and act like it's such a big deal. Maybe even go so far as to tell all your friends to avoid that girl.
After all, she was a sucky date.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


I've been feeling very grateful today.
But it might just be the extra caffeine keeping my eyes open.
Grateful that I got my refund check for my loan. Extra dinero to make my life easier.
Grateful that I get to visit my mother on a regular basis. I love my mommy. Especially when she brings me my brothers, dog, and a Diet Coke.
Grateful for my very understanding roommates who never say a thing about my mess or the fact that I'm never home.
Grateful for...oh, you know.
Grateful that my darn headlight didn't kill anyone when if flew off my car and bounced down the freeway last night. Grateful that the police didn't come after me for it.
Grateful for and the new knowledge that it's not really going cost me $500 dollars to fix said headlight.
Grateful for my father and his willingness to help me out with said headlight, saving me oodles of dinero.
Grateful for my job and the extra hours I'm getting this week. My boss is awesome. My coworkers are awesome. My job is awesome.
Grateful for the extra hour of sleep I got this morning, even though I missed my class (for the very first time).
Grateful that I actually like school.
Grateful for caffeine.
Grateful for God. So, so grateful.
Grateful that He loves me and keeps watching out for me, even though I'm such the disappointment.
I'm just...grateful. Overwhelmed with it. Awestruck. Amazed.

Emotions in an Evening

Nervous. Anxious. Excited. Stressed. Hurried. Frustrated. Bored. Frustrated. Stressed. Excited. Angry. Excited. Angry. Excited. Weak. Furious. Excited. Peaceful. Indifferent. Happy. Hungry. Full. Happy. Thoughtful. Scared. Nervous. Shocked. Delighted. Secretive. Excited. Thrilled. Euphoric. Doubtful. Hesitant. Shy. Reluctant. Depressed. Gloomy. Excited. Excited. Calm. Tranquil.


Napping in the late afternoon sunlight. A gulp of crisp, cool morning air. The smell of Clorox wipes or hand sanitizer. My obnoxiously large pink sunglasses. Blondies from Hagermann's. Noticing the last of the winter snow has finally melted off the peaks. The salted breath of the beach (oh, the beach). Lavender. Cardigans. Flats. Getting mail (yes, even junk mail). Dusting. Steam saunas. Fountain drinks (Diet Coke or Pepsi only, please, with an inch of ice). Sitting next to my brother and feeling him affectionately squeeze my hand. Snuggling with my sister while deep in conversation. Learning something new. Anything, anything new. Knowledge. Cooking and baking. Work. Success. Scrunching my curls until they're perfect princess loops. Drifting in and out of consciousness curled up next to someone I care about. Toms. Getting the chills. Burt's Bees lip balm (which I am we speak). Laughter - mine, yours, his, hers. Sleeping babies. The smell of babies. Happy, giggling babies. Sad babies, their heartbreaking cries dissolving as soon as they're cuddled. Strength. Weakness. Payday. Love, as much as I deny its existence. Excitement and anticipation. The race for perfection, although I can't yet see the finish line.

Monday, October 11, 2010


Listen. Ponder. Think.
See me. Myself.
See my life. My experiences. My thoughts, words, actions. My mind, heart, soul.
Look in the mirror.
What's there? What do I see?
I see the surface. I see the dark haired, wide eyed, timid little girl I am. Outspoken, shy, excited. Obnoxious, hyper, fun-loving. Wild.
Is that it?
The surface. It's visible. It's clear.
But what's hiding beneath that cover? What's down there? Does anyone see it? Do I see it?
Is it lost? Does it exist? Am I just a surface?
How long have I been hiding behind that surface?
Look deeper.
What's there?
I see memories. I see thoughts. I see moments. I see emotions. Silly. Random. Painful. Aching. Sweet. Silent. Simple. Insignificant yet so crucial to the person I'm looking for. The person I'm trying so hard to be. To find.
Now look at my reflection. I see weakness. I see strength. I see beauty. I see time.
I see me. Someone who has passed the test. Not the test. But one of them.
I see a brilliant little girl. One who has fought and won the battles of her childhood and younger years. She's pure. She shines. Thrives with so much possibility and potential.
But she hides.
It's like looking at a mirror that reflects too much light, making it impossible to see anything at all.
This girl is ready. Ready to take on life. To challenge it. To test it. To tap into that distant and concealed potential.
I'm prepared. I can handle it.
I'm ready to stretch myself. To search. To seek. To be.
I'll sift and search through my surface until I find it. Ignore the pain and discomfort and I'll reach it.
I'm not just a surface.
I'll find it. My core. My soul.
I'll live. I'll be. I'll do. I'll thrive.

Friday, October 1, 2010


She steps in the scale again.
The dial swivels and settles on a number.
It reads the same. Again.
She just stares at it, incredulous, sickened.
It'd been days. No solid foods. Just water. And running.
And still, that infuriatingly colossal number screamed at her, deafening.
All she wanted was to be like them. The girls at school. In the magazines. The ones she saw on the posters. The mannequins in the windows.
She just wanted to be smaller. Just a few more pounds. It couldn't take this long. It shouldn't.
She'd do it. She had to. Every look in the mirror brought more self loathing and darkness. Ever glance at her imperfect body brought more hate, making her shrink away from it. She was disgusting. Obese. Huge. Bouncing and wiggling with every movement. Unsightly legs, bulky hips, arms, stomach, and face making her look inflated.
Her stomach turned. She bent over the basin and heaved.
This would help. This would quicken the process.
The wiped her mouth and leaned closer to her reflection, gingerly supporting herself on weak arms, angry eyes scanning over the unwanted curves of her body.
She wouldn't see the fragile girl starting back at her with dead eyes set in tired bruises. She didn't notice the sharp angles of her ribs, hips, and cheekbones. She looked past the pale skin tugging against delicate joints in her fingers and elbows. Her shaky hands ran through her limp hair, pulling it forward to conceal her face.
Her vision clouded.
She couldn't see it.