is it what it seems

We’re packing. Moving is insane. The hunt for the right place, the waiting to hear if you’re good enough, the leaving of your former home. I find it all very overwhelming. That’s to be expected I suppose for a girl who’s lived in one house her whole life. The closest I’ve come prior to married life is dorm moving. But when your parent’s house is close enough to do laundry at every weekend, I don’t really call it moving. It was more like having two rooms. Which, having two closets is a dream.
As I sorted and tossed and packed this afternoon, I discovered old photo albums. Which really, if I’m trying to pack, I should avoid packing photos until the very last minute because I’m sure to spend way too much time wandering down memory lane.
An entire book of people from my past. It was amusing to me to see people whom I almost didn’t say yes to “befriending” on social networking sites because I thought our friend ties in our former years were almost non existent. But no, there we are, grasping arms and smiling. And yes, you did come visit me in the dorms and spend the night. And oh yeah, we did kidnap her at some ungodly hour to only have the 24 hour Denny’s be closed. Wow, how quickly memories fade. Relationships fade too, only usually slower in transit.
I love to recall the crushes, the tears, the passion, the mis split bills at the Ruby’s that doesn’t exist any more. How vivid the feelings were, so historic in their grandeur. But really, a small speck on the radar. You can see it in our faces, the moments being lived, the emotions at their peak.
The pictures tell another story besides the vitality of my youth. They are true records of the moment caught on film. Casually posed, enlivened with the moment with no other purpose than to document life. Its changed, youthful photos of 2008 are wrought with facade.
Thank you to the digital age, my greatest companion destroyed the innocence of my youth. With digital cameras the norm, we retake every photo until every hair is in place, every smile at its best. We don’t have to wait for exposure at Thriftys, instant gratification to proclaim our beauty. And then what is the ultimate purpose of that photo? Its destination is the world wide web via myspace or facebook, to do its duty of proclaiming our excellence and social status. As I look at my albums I can find maybe 1-5 photos which I took of myself that are just of me. Today you can find at least two pages of photos of just me on the web.
I’m bringing back the photo album and you have to come over for dinner and look at it on my coffee table bitches.
Also, my husband just made up a brilliant and slightly disturbing song about underwear.

sitting on the ground on Western blvd

When I look up, I see a maze of legs and skirts and shoes. I’m patiently waiting for the show to start.
Sometimes I feel like everyone around me is waiting for the show to start. I can’t really point the finger because I find myself feeling the same way. We’re all in line, hoping, waiting, expecting.
The thing is that life keeps going whether you’re waiting or not. You may find that once you have that thing or status you thought you so desperately needed, you’re still waiting for yet the next thing.
And no damnit, I’m not talking about “live for the moment” because life is more than a moment. And its not any of those other cliche things which really just end up meaning “party because you think you’re still young shirking responsibility and never have any regrets, about anything”. That’s bull. If you don’t have any regrets, that means either a) you’re oblivious to any pain or hurt you’ve ever caused anyone else or b) you’re perfect. I’ll settle for accepting the first if I have to, but there’s no way I’m swallowing the second.
So life. I guess what I’m trying to say is, appreciate what you have, what you are. You may not have much, you may not be much, but it’s you and its the only you that you’ve got. Life will change, you will change, but don’t live for that. Because then the former you is gone, forever.
In some instances, the people you once had are gone. That is the most tragic I think.
That’s why I’m a little sad to move, a little afraid. What we had this first year is closing, the new page a blank one. With the new page comes new emotions, excitement, fear, hard work and in your words, a fresh start.
I’ve said it before, sometimes I say it again to remind myself: I love our life. Its our life. No matter what happens or what’s missing, we have our life. Jesus make me satisified, satiated, overflowing with the life I have.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll blog about Twilight

this was me two years ago, almost to the day.

I feel so confused
About when I will see you again
I feel the miss deep within
But will things again turn sour
As I wait for the darkening hour
Or will you ask me to be yours
And will we live and live strong
These questions tick slowly by
And the summer lengthens it’s sigh
I wait for you
Return home
And tell me what is to become
Of our love.

reminders are good things.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9)

warmth of my bed, makes mornings hard

How can young people keep their way pure? By guarding it according to your word. With my whole heart I seek you; do not let me stray from your commandments. I treasure your word in my heart, so that I may not sin against you.

I really really need to get back to the gym. Like really. Before the Holidays come and any remaining self control I have takes a trip.

Obsessed with Damien Rice lately, he soothes me.

The reason its so hard to get up every morning is that we spend every evening with Fable II.

Need to.

The words that are inside often ask to be let out. The thoughts that have mustered up the courage to become paragraphs and speech transitions. Usually I ignore them.

Only when they’re raging with emotion do I usually let them crack the door, and leak onto the easiest to reach social networking site, where I indiscreetly hope the vague references will reach and pierce their intended victims. Sickening really.

Tonight, as I came up with spare time, and aimlessly googled so cal photographers, I realized I’m doing myself a huge disfavor. My words are meant to be typed or written, jotted down with horrible penmanship and grammar. Journals tell my past, my history, a story of mistakes and heartache and a few joys and triumphs here and there. The future is unknown. But I will know it even less if I do not know my past.

So on nights like tonight, where I’m not intrigued by the whirlwind of the internet and I can’t play fable II because my husband is, I should take advantage of my words.

It’s not a promise. It’s a try. Because of a need to.

We’ll see how this goes.