On the eve of it all...

Merry Christmas Eve!

I started thinking about the idea of an "eve," about how often through history we think of the eve before an event. Sometimes this is a very broad "eve," and sometimes it is confined to a specific day. I tend to think of how history books call the time before a cataclysmic event or social/political/climate changing event the "eve." How often are these good moments? Like the eve of the Holocaust, or the eve of the Great Depression. Yes, the years before the Depression were pretty snazzy, but obviously the Depression kind of wipes away all of that in the minds of the everyday American. But really, think of the changes that occurred, and recognize what "Eve" really means.

Now, I don't mean to be a debby-downer on the night before Christmas. Forever the Devil's advocate, I suppose they say. Speaking of which, how many people stop to think about how Christmas Eve technically represents the night before Christ was born? Think of the changes that birth caused! This is supposing that you believe. To quote my family's favorite Christmas movie, "The Santa Clause," I must ask, is seeing believing or is believing seeing?

Ok, back to Christmas Eve. My family has this tradition where my little brother and I are given new pajamas and we have a little "party" instead of dinner. We eat food that is really bad for us while we watch "The Santa Clause." It isn't a big deal, it isn't very fancy at all, but it is fun. It is something that we've done since...well, before I can remember. Almost 19 years? I'm pretty sure my parents started doing it my first Christmas. But I can guarantee this: it is one thing that I will always remember. It is such a part of me, and a huge reminder of my childhood. As I grow up, and as Christmas changes every year since I stopped believing in Santa Claus, this ritual brings me back and makes me feel like a child again.

Have a very Merry Christmas loves.

peace&love.

You want the truth?

I don't think I can even trust myself anymore.

But I'm trying.

Peaceful ponderings

Has the realization that you exist ever hit you really hard? Hard enough to knock your breath away and make you reconsider every decision you've made? This happens to me, frequently.

And no, I am not high. Thanks for wondering, though.

I read this article today about influential people who changed the world but died at a very young age. This list ranged from Jean Harlow, Marilyn Monroe and James Dean to Martin Luther King Jr. and JFK to F. Scott Fitzgerald and Jack Kerouac. Some of the stories were tragic, some enraging. All of them made me wonder how important the work I do will be in the grand scheme of things.

I have no intention of being famous or important to very many people at all. I'd actually like to avoid that at all costs. The limelight is not exactly where I'd like to spend my life. That's why my preferred form of expression involves a pen. I'd just like to make some sort of impact on someone. One life, I would like to make a difference in, that's all.

I stand for things, and I think they are important things. What if others do? What if I could change the course of things, by igniting my opinions and letting others know about them, by forcing some sort of change?

What if I shrunk into a hole and wrote for myself, but nobody else?

What will it take to know, in my last moments, that I mattered?

peace&love.

Because I Said So.

One paper, 6 finals and I will be done for the semester!
This was an insanely bust 3 months (it is 3, right? September, October, November...and December). Oops, I mean 4. But see, here's my point: the time flew by! It feels like I just moved into my room a couple of weeks ago. I don't enjoy this whole "let's finish each semester really quickly" business. I like stretching things out. As much as I don't want to do work anymore, I'm not quite ready for the semester to end. There is too much unfinished business to attend to. What if situations aren't the same in 6 1/2 weeks, when we return to these hallowed halls in February? Hmm.
This brings me to another point. SO MUCH DRAMA EXISTS IN COLLEGE. It is ridiculous and unnecessary. I am not a person who enjoys listening to people bitch and moan about the same nonsense over and over again. Especially when it's about relationships. If you haven't noticed, everyone has relationship problems. You aren't special, or even unique in that sense. Go home drama queens. Or, rather, go back to high school. I don't want to deal with it anymore. Not that I really even bother to deal with most of it. I more or less ignore it, except for what I want to know. Because deep down, and as much as I really don't care about any of it, I am nosy. I like to know things. But hey. My job is to observe, right? Right.

Ke$ha...she likes biker stuff...and trash. Garbage bag chic? I think so.

Yes, readers and bloggers alike, I watch some reality TV. Mostly, I stick to The City. I can stomach it the easiest.

I like fashion. I enjoy getting dressed in the morning, I enjoy shopping. But I don't understand why fashion shows have these outrageous designs that look more like Halloween costumes than actual clothes. It's couture, but unwearable.

Lately, I've begun to appreciate bohemian-style clothes, bags and accessories. I enjoy the loose, hippie kind of flowy clothes and prints.

Even though I tend to pride myself on being scholarly and not really succumbing to shallow ways of my contemporaries, I don't mind talking about fashion. I don't see it as being shallow. Clothing choices are often the result of society's influence on the population of any given area or status. One can analyze regions, entire countries and eras based on fashion. One may also determine the rate at which people continue to disregard contemporary or popular beliefs and customs...and how fast those people group together and become a trend all their own. The hippies of the 1970's, for example, and even the hippies of today. How fast did the idea of the hippie become fashionable? Quickly, my friends. Who's to say that anything remains original?

peace&&love, my friends.

Hail, hail.

So basically, I've been flip-flopping around about my major.

First semester, I took a class called Childhoods Lost, about kids who were in foster care, who needed good parental care, who did not have the chance at a childhood. The kids in these books broke my heart--and made me want to help.

Thus, I've been considering social work. I've thought about this before, and I keep thinking about it. I just don't really want to be a psych major at Wells, but I suppose it's worth a shot.

English feels right though. Writing and analyzing is what I love. Why should I change my goals? I suppose I'm lucky that this is the hardst decision I have to make at the moment. They only get harder after this.

peace&&love

Love like crazy

I really despise stereotypes.

Any kind of stereotype. Why are people placed into categories? What category am I placed in? I'm curious, but honestly I don't care. I don't believe in stereotypes. I don't deserve to be boxed in with anyone else, so why would I box in others?

There's a party goin' on, raise your hands, sing a song

CONFETTI is on my mind, folks. Confetti cakes, that is.

I really enjoy making cakes, as does my best friend. Therefore, epic cake-making may be a-happenin' very soon!!! I went searching for pictures, ideas for designs, and I found some weirrrrd cakes...who really wants a cake that looks like a molar? Honestly? Who wants to eat something that reminds them of pain, needles, and the dentist? Weirdos. That's who. No offense.

So, I really want to get this internship at Random House in a couple of years. It would take up my whole summer, but who could ask for a better opportunity??? It would be such a good experience for an aspiring writer/publisher such as myself.

I decided I have a love & hate relationship with William Faulkner. No way around it.

peace&&love hot stuff.

Nutty Cracker Suite

Three, four, and five year olds clapping around in tap shoes and tutus. Ballet mothers who think they know what's going on when really they have no clue. Props that do NOT cooporate. Tears, fringe, and costume changes. This is my life.

For today, at least. The KAC spring dance performance appeared yet again. Luckily, I enjoy helping out. But as I stood there, in the wings of my old high school auditorium stage, watching the little ballerinas bounce around the stage, I can't help but wonder if I will ever be a "dance mom."

I don't actually think I will be. My best friend has danced since she was three, and it hasn't been easy for her. It's more than the physical aspects of dance--there are politics that effect young dancers from the very beginning. I wouldn't want to put my kid through that, unless she or he really truly want to dance. However, if my kids are anything like me, they won't have the talent to dance...I'll end up carting them around to soccer/baseball/volleyball/tennis/basketball games and matches. Ah, well, I suppose we'll all see what happens. It's a ways off.

peace&&love darlings.

Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name?

"Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free."

"I like people who shake other people up and make them feel uncomfortable."

Once upon a time, Jim Morrison spoke the truth.

I've been preoccupied with life a lot lately, society. I crave change. I want the world to feel a shift, in power, in corruption, in greed. I need the hate to stop, the pain to cease. It hurts so badly to watch others suffer.

In three days, I consumed this book, The Help by Kathryn Stockett. It took place in Jackson, Mississippi in the early 1960's. Everybody knows what went on then, but I have to ask, how many people recognize how terrible those events were? How many people ache for the prejudice and racism that STILL EXISTS to dissolve as quickly as the snow that appeared on Mother's Day? I know that I do. Every day, I hear side comments and conversations among people, even those in my little New York village. Words, sentences, comments that people don't even realize are racist or prejudiced. It's changed since the '60's, but not entirely. We're aware of the hate, but people find other ways of showing it. The relationship between blacks and whites is not the only type present now--Bosnians, Hispanics, any person immigrating to America can feel hate today. Who recognizes hate but the ones actually, directly, effected by it?

I fear the kind of hate that becomes infuse within those who are hated. I fear the moment when a person believes they are less than the person standing across from them because of a petty difference--the color of one's skin or the fluency of one's English, one's intelligence or where one's parents were born. It's as pathetic as hating someone for the color of their dining room walls.

Personally, my biggest fear is that one day, I too will learn how to hate. I never want that day to come, and I will fight it with every ounce of my strength. I will not allow it to consume me too. My love for all life is much too powerful.

peace&&love, beauties.

Oh oh those summer nights

So I should really get better about blogging. Perhaps now that my freshman year of college is complete, I'll have a little time.
It's so strange that saying goodbye to friends I've only known for 9 months hurs so much, makes me so sad. I feel like I've known these people forever. Some I won't see for 8 more months...stdy abroad experiences are riping them from Wells. Sevilla and Belize are calling them. I shouldn't waste tears now though...one day we will be leving each other for much longe...possibly never to see each other again.
I guess what really blows my mind is that I've spent a year in college already. I've been away from home so long! This was the scariest thing I've done in my 18 years but it was the best decision I've ever made.
I have three more years to make my mark at Wells College...bring it on. Sophomore year, here I come.
But first, I need to enjoy a little summer sun with the friends I love dearly...the ones I've known since I was a tot :)

peace&&love

I heard about you before, I wanted to know some more.

Usually, I don't particularly enjoy sitting around my house doing nothing, but last night I FINALLY got my stupid iPod to work, and spent today putting all of my music on it...a day well spent, I think.

I love ABBA. Not gonna lie.

when life gives you lemons, put on your white sombrero.

Oh Trickster, how I love thee.

So, just a week until I make my return to the haunted halls of Wells College. You know, the ghost stories of that 150-year-old school would make anyone avoid certain buildings/floors in the dead of night.

Anywhoozle, that's not quite the topic of tonight's post. I will regale you with Wells stories on another day. For now, I think I would like to talk about...asylums.

I became curious one day about the asylums of the early 1900's, when one was placed inside a sanatorium for any number of reasons...sane or not. Bellevue, Amityville...all of these places were meant to save people from themselves, but too often did horrendous events occur within those solid stone walls. A fun fact for your enjoyment: Drew Barrymore's grandfather, Maurice, was a resident of the Amityville Asylum! Now it's South Oaks, but what's in a name?

Why do I tell you this meaningless information? Honestly, I have no clue. It interests me, and thus I wish it to interest you!

Perhaps one day, when I finish my latest project, you will understand my interest in the asylums...or perhaps you won't. I suppose we get to wait and see!

Is it weird that I enjoy doing homework, to an extent?

peace&love lovelies.