Waiting for the iron to cool and re-subscribing to the Writer's Almanac Podcast, because Garrison Keillor makes me feel so old and so young at the same time and I want to write a poem worth him reading.

But I haven't written poetry in a long time. A long time.

Because I don't have time to write poetry.

Nor do I have a muse. I miss having a muse. I miss seeking out new words to use in poetry. I miss turning phrases in my head, thinking of succinct ways to describing things in to a perfect short sentence that took a bright and peculiar photograph of one point in time, and yet was timeless. I miss holding on to 3 words for weeks at a time, knowing that they unlocked something grand.

Where did it go? Did it leave? Or did I just lock it up?

What if I did lock up? There will be hell to pay for that.

I'm all wound up about some traffic violation that I need some help on... So I'm up and about and not practicing.

It seems to me that it is the popular and hip thing to come out and support gay marriage. To change your profile picture, or wear an arm band, or take a vow of silence for a day. In this day and age, showing appreciation for gay marriage appears to be this, my, generation's revolution, or... something. It's like the "cool" thing to do, and I don't really know how I feel about that... This, and North Korea, are constantly breaking headlines.

So it seems appropriate that I tell my story. Now. While everything is happening and before no one believes me. And while I'm getting more comfortable in my own skin. Even though this blog is only some small knot hole of the web in which I whisper through, it is my most appropriate medium where I can always hope that someone, or no one, is listening.

By fourth grade, I knew I was different. I didn't know how just yet, but I had the sense that I was. The sense that I was maybe supposed to be doing something, but I never did. I was a good student, to a point, I was kind, quiet, and smart. And when I was with friends I was crazy and fun. I certainly was normal, but, I was also different. There is wanting to be different, which I did, but then there is also different. There was a confusion.

I used to make up blurbs about myself that I had a "crush" on some other boy in the grade. Not to spread a rumor, but I think more to shock my friends. And because, I think I felt that's what I had to do at that time, have a crush on a boy. But that was a story I made up. Maybe I liked the idea of it, but, I didn't know.

My first real crush was on a girl. It just sort of crept up on me, haunting me for a few years with nothing but pleasant "what ifs". And it seemed the most natural thing in the world to me. Of course, I didn't think it was anything to pursue, which is perhaps why it stayed so safe, but it did happen. She was perfect. She was kind and I thought the most beautiful person in the world. Throughout 5th grade it did nothing but simply fan my heart lightly so that I was energetic and bright. A pure, innocent sort of love that later bloomed into a fantastic friendship. But I was aware of it. Of something. It was a secret I kept from everyone else, though I think the silence spun my gears too fast sometimes.

The next year, I was home-schooled. I had a lot of time to think and was very much left to my own devices academically, to include my own knowledge of health. I got a book out of the library geared to young girls and adolescents going through puberty. Of course, anything regarding "health" in school settings is uncomfortable and yucky, so I sat myself down and read through the whole thing in one sitting and was done with it. But I remember in a section there was a remark that attractions to the same sex were sometimes a phase that adolescents passed through and then out of healthily. And sometimes it wasn't a phase. I remembered this, I remember thinking to myself something along the lines of "well, then we'll just see what happens then." I must have already been thinking about this often enough for it to stick out as a land mark, and not the realization. The "realization" comes later, but in retrospect, I always just... was.

For the rest of middle school I went back to public school. The first year was an awkward painful blur of loneliness and desperation. I struggled to talk to people, but I walked tall so maybe they would be encouraged to talk to me. At the same time, I looked at my peers, as anyone else looked at their peers, for anyone who invoked anything more than friendship... or if they invoked friendship at all. It wasn't a calculated thing, it was simply a small drive. I was shocked sometimes, when a boy could make me smile a little silly, and pleasantly warmed when a girl did. My reactions confused me, but I let them go by carefully. By now, I knew I had a secret. But it actually hadn't quite occurred to me fully why it was a secret. Or even how to define it. I knew it would make people uncomfortable, but so does most soul bearing of any kind. My heart twittered left and right for everyone in the only way a little heart can twitter; like a clean white bird. Into the next year, I was more at ease in my new school and home, but I wanted something.

I entered high school with a new drive. I was finally comfortable with a group of friends. Yet, with the scars from loneliness still fresh on me, I determined that I would introduce myself to every new student I encountered so they did not feel intimidated. I could no long stand the awkwardness that was my entire seventh grade and decided that it was a complete injustice done to me. Here is a school, with people who have known each other for years and were all in their element, and no one could approach me and say hi? I was one against many. So I felt for the students who did not come from one of the satellite middle schools. I was determined be a friend. And personally, I wanted to find my friend. A best friend. A somebody.

Maybe it was this attitude that brought it upon myself, but I found one alright, sitting right across from me in first period. I don't know what it was, but when I looked at her, I made this little vow that came up out of no where; "I will stand by you no matter what others say unless you yourself prove me otherwise, and even then..." It just. Happened. And that year, we had a beautiful friendship. By late October, I could already see in myself that I was in love. But, ah! If I'm in love, then, how do I know that she feels the same? What if she doesn't? What would that do to us then? What if she does? What if she does? I would have stayed completely still for her. I would have gone to college, got married, bought a house, and raised a family with her. Those who know me know my racing thoughts and my wandersome ways. The thought of going nowhere depresses me greatly. But so long as I was with her, then I never even thought of being anywhere else. I had nowhere else I needed to be. All those love songs on the radio, regardless who sang and to whom, made sense and held more power to me. I envied poets' poignant words. She was, as the cliche goes, the first person I thought about in the morning and the last person I thought of as I went to bed at night. And if I was lucky, I got to dream about her. I let those powerful heady thoughts tumble through me as our relationship thickened. We were close, closer than we had ever been to anyone else, and we told each other so. Rarely did it occur to me the question of, "what if she freaks out because I'm a girl?" Yes. I'm a girl. I like wearing dresses and make-up sometimes, I keep my hair long, and I even paint my nails occasionally.

Of all the thoughts I had about love, the thought of I was a girl and she was a girl, social stigmas, prejudice, rejection by the rest of our peers, discrimination, sex, sexuality, and all those words that get thrown around make people uncomfortable, never occurred to me. Not until later anyway, when it turns out she didn't feel the same, and our communication was poor... that's a whole other story (or the majority of this blog, if you chose to go through it). When I had to let go of her, then the pain of my secret and fear of social stigma was greatest. I was truly feeling heartbreak, and I didn't feel safe confiding in anyone else for a very long time. I couldn't gush over my crush like girls do, I couldn't seek guidance in my confusion of what to tell her, I couldn't take comfort in my friends or family over being rejected, I couldn't get any advice. I had to heal completely on my own. I like to think that I did, but it was hard and it affected me socially, academically, and even physically draining me. And that, so far, has been my greatest injustice; that I should love like anyone else, and be terrified to tell anyone about it.

It is not fair.
It is not fair.
It is not fair.
It is not fair that I felt I had to be silent. That I feared rejection from my friends and family. Simply because I loved. Because I loved, I suffered. When I thought of her, she was simply.... an individual, whom I loved, in the only and the best way that I could love at the time. And truly my biggest concern was, I was in love with someone, did she love me back? Sometimes I feel like I'd be a little more balanced if we had given it a shot. Perhaps if she did feel the same way, we would have come out and taken on whatever was thrown our way together. We would have been happy. We would have fought. Hell, we may have even broken up later. But it wouldn't matter, because we would have had each other. But she didn't love me back like I did her. And that is fair, that is how life goes.

There is absolutely nothing strange about my story. We've all grown in awkward spurts and starts emotionally, never knowing what it is exactly we are feeling until it is too late, almost every other individual has felt the same sort of heart break and trepidation. When someone is in love, they don't channel their feelings as an act of rebellion or a lash at society. They feel them as the purest, happiest, warmest, confusing things they can think of. How can something like this be wrong? It is only natural that we would want to share these feelings and have them celebrated and appreciated like everyone else with institutions like marriage. Just because we don't love someone of the opposite sex doesn't mean we don't know what love is.

I know what the Bible says, I know the arguments... but... I've lived through this, and I have to believe:

How can love ever be wrong?

I'm making it simple this year. Because every day I try to improve or not get worse, who doesn't? But I need to love more. At the last Speaking, I shared something positive about two other people in the room, to their faces. And I felt great afterwards and I could tell it actually really hit home on one of them. I think I consider myself either too proud, to realistic, or too... lazy, to bother with niceties. But you know what, the world could do with more niceties, and those were much more than niceties anyway. Being home I see how much responsibility my mom takes within the community here and she gets that way because not only can she get it done, but she's nice to people to their face. I'm nice to people in a secret way that if asked you will find me honest. I need to put myself out there more. Fall in love with more people through windows.

So this year, I'm going to love more.

And recycle.

Here's a writing prompt I've just made up, with no real plan of attack.
But I'm going to compose a few lines of rhyme that go along with "cat"
Now you may say attack is only a half rhyme, and that I do acknowledge
But this is my blog and my poem and my exercise, and so you all can shove it.

Words that rhyme with cat
There's bat and rat and spat and that
And that and who and which and where
Oh I'm becoming rather unclear
There's something and all things and nothing in particular
There's the stuff and the sights and the common vernacular
There's science and magic and hippies and stiffs
Cauldrons, broomsticks, breath mints, and spliffs
There's all thoughts dismissed and nothing worth getting at
There's oranges and purples and things that rhyme with cat

This is just to say.

I have taken it all with a grain of a salt
And which you probably meant very well
Forgive me
But they were airy, poorly edited, and unsubstantial
And the real world is so deep.

Here I turn. Just to see where my brain allows me.

There's so much that people say in all the same way
That we've been saying for years and years
They've called me a seeker of truth, a finder of the kingdom of heaven. I feel it's time to seek truth elsewhere.

I love you, but the documentaries suck. Next time, I am stealing you away and we are going to do something. Like chase deer.

Sleepy kitty...

What is happiness?

First of, I've had fuck floating around in my head all the past hundred days and yet when I find myself in company it's difficult to complain. So, friends are good.

But in any case, it's still all there. And I need to try and draw it out while I have time here. Which means this is going to make absolutely no sense.

I read just the introduction to Nietzsche, yeah, just the introduction. But he goes into happiness. Happiness versus contentment. Is it better to be a sad wise man than a happy fool? What is happiness. In one case, happiness is quoted out in a formula, a calculated thing to be gained by good, honest, hard work. In another quote, happiness is a note from a bagpipe. The pursuit of happiness...

Happiness v. Content.

At a glance I'd the say the two are synonymous. But in this context, I suppose happiness is a wholesome goodness of the soul and a content is a settling for the wants of the body... I've been reading a lot of Socrates as well.

We are not born knowing what happiness. If we are, we have forgotten it. It's probably the first injustice, being born. In any case, we are. And we forget what happiness and need to rebuild it.

The pursuit of happiness, the pursuit of happiness. But no one tells what happiness is. Is happiness comfort? Is it knowing you are safe and loved? Or being of worth?

Who determines your worth? Yourself? Or is your worth measured by your usefulness to other people? Here is the start of my crisis.

I feel awkward and worthless at my job. We succeeded once. And we can succeed again. I taught a group of kids a song and they sang it in front of a small church of adults. What does that do for them? They either found it boring or difficult and confusing. There is all the good stuffs surrounding music. All the studies, and the joy, and the focus building and nonsense. Maybe I believe, but for now I am going to scoff at it. I have no presence in a classroom or as a visual leader. I am a soft friend, a side line component, an excellent second command.

What's more, I lack talent. I'm getting burnt out with piano. I flounder. I've always floundered. I have never played as well as I wanted and I lack something to get me there. It's frustrating. The sight of music and pianos draws me down. It used to be I wanted to play and show off whenever I saw one. Now I shy away from it. It's not like I have anything prepared anyway. What's the point of being ok when you need to be brilliant? That's how this world works. Not only that, but I grow weary of this music stuff. It could be because I haven't had been practicing and am obviously being looked at by the professor .... I mean this could all be arising because I've just been tired and not practicing...

Someone said the other day I would make a good vet. I wanted to be a vet when I was younger. I didn't seriously go after it though because this freaky strange ethical part of me says its silly to spend so much energy on animals than on humans. So I'm a music major...

No. This is why being a vet is totally plausible. And why I am suited for it. Tonight I will be making a case as to why I should switch majors.

First of all, I know better than some, if not most people, that animals are not people. If animals are killed in accidents, or intentionally, humanely or out of malicious intent, they do not, and will not, receive the same justice. That is our hierarchy, that is the cruel truth, and that is how it fucking works.
With that being said, animals are better than people. Because they do not concern themselves with justice. They are the noblest of gods creatures because they serve and live unquestioningly.
Second, I know as well as any that your dog is your best friend and brother. Because they do not judge you. Nor do they hold grudges. They trust you completely unless you do something intentionally to lose that trust. And for that reason they are worthy of our help.
Third, they are adorable, and furry, and honest.
Fourth, I am good with animals. I am quiet, patient, yet strong. Not squeamish... I think? Not adverse to scratching in any case. I am interested in how things move and work. I am a secret tinkerer with making things beautiful or fixing them. Or legos. And knex... and Ikea... I'm good at Ikea furniture... I miss science.
Another reason why I dipped on the idea of vet school was because I never seemed to get good at science after middle school. My brain refused to do the math... and I was still enamored with astronomy. But I should have done biology. My big dreamy part of my brain wanted to deal with the heavens and the things we didn't yet know, and art, and poetry and science.
But I think my heart would be happier, and my brain better challenged, fixing animals. I'd like to think I'd work hard and be dedicated and really know my shit to be good at this stuff... but my brain and personality are super adeledly.

like now. its 2 am... Im leaving... more work to do tomorrow... I do feel better. Haven't even touched on matters of love...