Tsunami Beginnings

Days like this can't seem to get any more... different. It's the strangest feeling, knowing that you're breathing and they're breathing and everyone's breathing but at the same time no one is. That white haze that drops and settles  in from wherever it was before, most likely hovering just below the atmosphere in perfect aerial-striking position. Detachment and retreat into the mind are two main characteristics of the fog, rolling in over the sleeping harbor while gulls rustle and turn over in their nests. It's amazing how similar the mind is to the sea. Hard and glassy on the surface with barely a ripple; no naked eye could even begin to look below to the mysteries teeming underneath. Until a wind starts to pick up, that is - snaking its tendrils to lap at the surface and causing waves to roil and disrupt the previous peace; people coming in on their tiny lifeboats and bonding with the water, or cutting through in massive gaudy yachts and polluting the blue with black shiny oil that burns. My mind is hard and glassy now. I feel the blankness of it myself, and even I can't penetrate it. It's a disturbing feeling, not being able to connect.

Callouses and scars

I love callouses and scars. On my feet, on my hands, on my elbows, on my shoulders, on my knees. They mean I've used my limbs and my energy to do things. They're little reminders that I've worked and played and danced and prayed. The balls of my feet and my toes and heels say I can dance and run and step on rocks and sand. My second toe is longer than my first and bears a little callous on the tips from dancing on my toes and hitting them on the ground and jumping around in clogging and ballet and running. The sides of my feet show all the times I've worn high heels and ripped through the skin to get blisters until they hardened to protect me from my own fashion stupidity. The skin that should be soft on the ball of my feet aren't from marching band and blistering them beyond recognition with two-inch blisters a half-inch thick, and then marching on top of that anyway, all bandaged and padded. My knees are scarred and calloused from kneeling on cement and concrete and dirt to plant and weed and pray and help little kids tie their shoes or powerslide and fall. My shoulders are calloused from holding drums and hiking backpacks for miles. My hands have callouses from using shovels and axes and moving hay bales and digging trenches and mucking stalls. My elbows have army crawled through dirt and sand and carpet to play army games with little kids and cousins and friends, or sneak up and prank someone in their tent or sleep. I have scars on my ankles from the first time shaving and whipping them through weeds while running. I have a raised scar on my chest and neck from chickenpox, and sevenon my fingers from hot glue guns and splinters and knifes. I have one on my back from being rubbed raw, and so many on my knees from falling in track and gym burns from speedball and basketball or skidding on ice or kneeling on legos and puncture vines. My shins have experienced jumping onto a concrete block, missing, and ripping them open on the edge. The side of my thumbs are scarred from stressfully tearing at them with my teeth over and over again, and my left calf has a tire mark scar from my foot slipping off the pedal and getting the skin burned off by the back tire of my bike going down a hill. My arms have scars from cuts and mosquito bites when I was little and when a hot-poker got set on one of them. I can remember each incident with clarity, but only because I have reminders. They're not pretty and other people might think I'm weird for it, but I love my callouses and scars.

Texting

I was thinking today about why I'm so emotionally drained and mixed up all the time. But then, as I was replying to the hordes of texts I receive, I realized that that's it. Because I have to be something different in each conversation, give something that that person needs. Like today. All at the same time, I had nine different conversations going. I had to be funny, or flirty, or sympathetic, or serious, or deep, or reprimanding, or uplifting. And it's tough. I wonder how it would be if I got rid of texting now. Or if the world did. Would it have any effect? If Daniel, Quentin, Krystal, Brandon, Jackie, Ashlyn, Ben, Loren, and Roger couldn't text me, all needing different things because they're all different people all needing a different part of me, would my down time be more relaxing? Probably, just because I could veg out and not care. But that's not really me. I like caring and helping. I love it when people text me with their problems and want help. I wish I could help more. But does texting really do anything, connect at all? I wish I could split myself and go and talk to them in person. I should invent that. Maybe if I had my entire self available for one person at a time, it would be more than that half-baked feeling I get. You know, when you have to go back and read the previous texts because you can't remember what you were talking about? I feel horrible about that sometimes. But then I'm to tired to care at others.

So I obviously have no idea what this whole post is about. Just mashed up feelings I guess.

how should I phrase this?

Has anyone noticed how angsty some teenagers are? I mean... I'm not a completely level-headed person all the days but I mean REALLY. I try to fix things before they get to the point of "OH MY GOSH MY WORLD IS FALLING APART BOYS BOYS BOYS SEX SEX SEX BROKEN NAILS ARE AKIN TO RAZORS BEING DRAGGED ACROSS MY FRAGILE SKIN AND I HATE JUSTIN BIEBER BECAUSE EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD SAYS THEY DO MORE BOYS BOYS BOYS KISSING KISSING KISSING DESPERATE DESPERATE DESPERATE SOMEONE LOVE ME AND FAWN OVER ME BECAUSE I HAVE TO SHOVE IT IN EVERYONE'S FACES THAT BOYS WANT ME FOR MY *coughslutcough* BODY AND I HAVE SO MANY PROBLEMS I'M AN EMOTIONAL WRECK I NEED A BOY TO SAVE ME FROM THE DARK BUTTERFLIES THAT ENVELOPE MY HEAD AND NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME AND THEY NEVER WILL BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH

I hate girls that call themselves real when they're TOTALLY NOT AT ALL.

Fancy Feast

Has anyone watched those fancy feast videos on youtube? the ones about the couple who fall in love and get married and advertise fancy feast? Yeah. They make me cry. Both from "awww that's just so perfect and cuuute" and "frik why isn't my life that perfect and cute!" I must be pathetic. But I really miss that kind of thing in my life. I want to get married and have babies already. And now I need a fluffy white cat as well, to whom I can feed perfect little tins of fancy feast to. I can see that going awry.

Here's a scenario.

Husband: Good evening wife. I see you're cooking me dinner with your heels and pearls on. There's a good girl. It's very correct to come home from the office in my dark blue suit and leather briefcase to the smell of roast beef. Where's our children?

Me: Playing quietly in the nursery upstairs, darling. Just like every evening. *Dazzling smile* Would you like a drink? Perhaps some bourbon? I have the newspaper right here for you. Sit down, put your expensively-clad feet up. Ah, here's our cat now, just like clockwork. Coming to sit on her master's lap. Remember how romantic it was when you used her as a kitten to propose?

Husband: Yes, yes. You said something about a drink? Fetch it while I stroke the cat and read the paper, would you? There's a good girl.

Me: Yes darling. Please remove your shoes before entering the dining room for dinner; I just had the white carpets cleaned today.

Husband: That drink, dear.

Me: Yes darling. It's just... you don't always remove your shoes and I spend so much time cleaning that it's really quite annoy-

Husband: *clears throat, rustles newspaper, looks meaningfully at the sparkling crystal bottle that the liquor is stored in*

Me: Yes darling. Come kitty, we'll get you your Fancy Feast after I make your master a drink. I cleaned your crystal bowl out for this special day: my wedding anniversary. You must remember the wedding?

Cat: *looking balefully out of perfect green eyes* Mrow.

Me: Yes darling. *pours drink, hands off to husband, opens a can of Fancy Feast chosen from the neat stacks of tins in the cupboard* Here you go kitty. *walks into kitchen* Husband dear, dinner's ready. I made it just the way you like it. The children have already eaten; we'll have this special dinner I prepared for hours all by ourselves.

Husband: Frankly my dear, I'd rather eat Fancy Feast with the cat.

Me: Suit yourself. *Takes a tin of FF, rips open Husband's mouth, and shoves it deep down his throat until the screams become gargles of blood and finally fall silent* Come kitty. You can eat in the dining room with me. *picks up cat and crystal bowl of FF and walks into the next room*.

The end.

whatevah.

*sigh*

I hate that I'm still not over it and that you hate me.

Maternity Shoot Strikes Again.

I hope I'm this cool when I'm pregnant.

Maternity Shoot

Taking pictures of Julia made me wish I was pregnant.

Is that weird?

and now we come to the close.

What else is there to say? When the opportunity was there, it was allowed to pass. I guess I should be used to associating this nausea with the memories. Whatever happens...

Gavin :)

Walking around fair tonight with my little brother was the best thing. A girl his age asked if I was his sister and after saying yes, I told him that he should introduce me to his friends as his girlfriend. After telling me that was really weird, he said "Hi. This is my girlfriend Kira. She's the prettiest girl here, isn't she?" It made me feel so much better about the universe.

hope this hurts :)

Facebook. How you slay my life.

I'm thinking about deleting it.

Anyways :) So life has been pretty sucky. I'm rather proud of how I've kept it together. Someone has to be the man around here. Luckily I've got the bestest support in ze entiah vorld. But as a brilliant someone said to me a while ago, the pain goes away or changes. And then you can move on. I didn't follow the other advice, where you get another guy to forget the old one. But it'll happen someday. And even though I'm still crazy green-eyed over every word and smile and laugh, I just punch a puppy and it's all better. Just kidding. Only pillows. I would never punch a puppy.

Last night my pillows received a beating, as well as this morning. The poor darlings. Maybe if Facebook wasn't around to make everything so darn public. Possibly I need anger management. Also non-stick drama spray. Dramadramadramadrama. My way of releasing some anger/sadness is replying, but then erasing it before I hit send or post. And then no one knows how I really feel :) mostly. Sometimes I do hit send. But that feeds drama, and I dislike drama. However, this post is pretty drama-saturated. But I don't care for now. Possibly I'll delete it laters.

I love these kinds of blog posts. Where no one really knows what the crap I'm talking about except a few people. I hope it sucks as much for them as it does for me. Because I'm in the childish mood of sharing my anger a little bit, AKA as much as possible.

One of my pathetic wishes

Anyone else wish they were movie-star gorgeous? Like, the perfect body-shape, sexy and hawt? I know I do. But nope :) I'm stuck in the prison my reflection gives back to me. It could be worse, I'm grateful that my mind works well and I don't have a limb missing. I guess it's being average, mediocre, that gets me. I have brown hair, not a dark-chocolate brunette or long honey-brown waves. But just brown. Medium, curly brown hair with bangs that are too long to be bangs but too short to be called anything else. My nose isn't a tiny Grecian model or a big, beautiful, interesting nose. It's just a nose with weird dips at the front that make it pointy and my nostrils flare when I laugh. My eyes aren't frikkin awesome green beautiful orbs or super-blue oceans or deep, soulful brown windows. They're grey. Sometimes they're green in the right type of light or blue when my clothes reflect it. But they're grey. Not interesting speckles or rings or deep colors. Just grey. Mouth is thin and a weird muscly shape from playing the clarinet. No dimples. No cheekbones. Round jaw with little dips where my round chin begins, like on my nose. Regular neck, not long and willowy and pretty. Body is a major meh. No butt to speak of. Hands aren't long and graceful and thin. Feet are average as they come, size 7-9 depending on the shoe. Callouses and scars everywhere on me from working outside and falling down and hot glue guns. A couple raised scars from chicken pox. Farmers tan and obvious shorts tan. I don't even have a radiant personality that makes everyone happy. I'm a cynical realist :)

Sorry this post was so blah. You probably didn't even read it. If so, sorry. It was pretty childish. But it's just one of those days!

blerrrg

I feel really really sick right now.

That nasty hot sick that you get for no good reason like germs, but it kinda melts your eyeballs and shrinks your stomach to the size of a baby grape and then balloons it out into a fireball almost instantaneously afterwards. I call it Information Sickness. And I hate it.

Missed a Spot

I missed a spot while shaving my leg. One of the most annoying feelings ever.
I am now going to write a list of other annoying things.

When automatic doors don't open until you're right next to them so you have to slow down and you feel like an idiot.
When you're opening one of those double Popsicles and you try to break them but it all ends up on one stick and then you're holding a double Popsicle on one stick and a naked stick.
Finding an unshaved spot on your other leg in the EXACT same place.
Sitting in church - or anywhere - and then suddenly getting REALLY ANGRY for no reason, just being bored, and forcing yourself to continue to act normal, like you don't want to get up and start hitting people with bullets.
Starting to fall asleep and then getting itchy for no reason. So itchy that you can't even think, all you see is red and frustration.
Texting and stepping off a curb - only there's no curb. So you just pick up your foot and put it down harder than normal and you feel like an idiot.
Doing the same thing with going up or down stairs.
Reading a book and marking the page while you go off to get some OJ or whatever and then coming back and the page is mysteriously no longer marked and no one confesses to touching it.
Someone ridiculing you for something and then it turns out you were right but that person isn't around to rub it in their face and you just know that at that moment they're being all smug and thinking you're retarded.
Texting someone who texts back with "K" or "lol" and then gets mad when you don't text back.
Texting someone who sends you their text again if you don't reply fast enough.
Having a sticky keyboard.
Or a sticky doorknob.
Getting the knees of your jeans wet and then walking around all day. On the flip side, taking off said jeans and changing into dry ones is one of my favorite feelings in the world.
Taking a shower and dropping the shampoo on your foot.
Sitting somewhere for a while - computer, piano, bed, that kind of thing - and realizing there's a bug right next to you that's been there for who knows how long.
Waking up and stepping out of bed, and then painfully realizing that you have shinsplints.
Walking around and getting stabbed by a lego or a goathead lying on the floor and then being crippled worse than if you had a broken leg.
Having a weird eye thing that won't stop watering no matter how much you wipe it away.
Realizing that there's a hole in your pants. Of course, not until it's bedtime and you're standing there in your bright pink underwear from Victoria's Secret, holding up the jeans and thinking "Dang... All day..."
Saying something funny but really quiet and then the person next to you repeats it and gets all the laughs.
Having super great hair that just happened but then you have no where to go all day.
Listening to someone blow their nose in class during a test and just knowing how awkward it must be for them but not being able to do anything.
Someone giving you a wedgie. When you're not a little kid. And in a bathing suit and boxers. Yeah, I'm talking to you, bro.
Having a scab and REALLY wanting to rip it off but... then it's gross. And you can't anymore because you're old and supposed to be mature and not rip scabs off.
Going home from the beach and trying to wash off your feet before getting in the car but never being able to get your feet washed and dried before the sand accumulates again.

This is all I can think of right now. There are more, however. Maybe I'll post more later.

Walks in the Dark

While returning from a difficult walk around 11 pm, I was listening to music very loud and walking fast and not paying attention to where I was going - because I've walked that road a million times - but then I suddenly stopped. And tried to stop the sudden bile from rising in my throat... Because there was something running a foot in front of me. My first instinct, after throwing up apparently, was to back up. And it kept running, until it disappeared into the bushes. It was black (because it was dark) and oval in shape, and running on short skinny legs. It looked like an owl. But then I thought "Hey, owls don't run!" so then I freaked a little because it could have been a skunk with its tail raised. But then it ran out of the bushes, curved around, and ran back in. I didn't see a skunk body. It still looked like an owl. But owls don't run, do they? Not even ground owls. Right?

Albertsons

Tonight I went to pick up two things at Albertsons: orange juice, and mascara. I didn't expect to come home with a bagful of old memories.

I was chilling in the orange juice section - my most familiar section - and then I got nostalgic when I looked at the sunnyD and remembered trying it over and over because all my friends (I say all, I had like two good friends and a lot of cousins) loved it and I hated it. Every time. I still do. And then I counted all the orange drinks and there are about 29 different ones in Albertsons, not including sunnyD. And I've tried almost all of them. I have a favorite that I get every time: Florida's Natural With Pulp. That's it.

And then I remembered those little coupon dispensers. Do you remember those? They were red and you pulled little slippery slips of coupons out of them, and then it would whir and another one would pop out, ready for you to pull. It was like magic. I pulled them out all the time. I would run in front of my mom - which she hated, because she'd always run over me - and pull them all out and then put them back in the top so they could be reused. Because my mom never used them. I didn't understand that. I thought it was money, pretty much. I was really sad when they switched to the current Albertsons and they didn't have any of those red dispensers. I remember a lot of stuff about that Albertsons. I remember my mom saying she would love me even if I looked like a troll and had green hair. I remember the pinatas would hang from the ceiling and the day my mom told me they weren't filled with candy at that point. That was a hard day. And I remember when Ayla was born when I was four and I showed her off to the check-out lady. We went to that lady almost every time and I always wanted to show her something, like my new CTR ring, or a bead bracelet I got from the dollar store. I miss that old dollar store. It was by Hometown Pizza and Mikes. I liked Mikes too. They had a cool crafts section.

Then I wandered around some more, and I found some 10 for $10 spaghettios. I never had those. Ever. I remember being three, and sitting on our old nineties blue carpet, watching our old tv when a commercial for spaghettios came on and wanting them really bad because Madelyn had some in her food storage. I thought they would be squishy though so I never asked. I remember that the Rugrats came on right after that and not being allowed to watch it because it was a "crap show" so I went outside and played on our rocket tree instead. I miss that rocket tree, and the climbing tree. I buried two broken barbie babies right by it. And digging them up again to play with them, and then burying them again. I wonder if they're still there. The same day as the spaghettios commercial my mom taught me how to write my name, so I wrote it everywhere. On my dresser, on the bathroom wall behind the towels, on the spring-cover for the screen door. I did it behind the towels because I hated the towels and I wanted a bathrobe. I never got one of those either. Or slippers or those eye-covers.

Anyways. Back to Alberstons.

I then wandered to the liquor aisle. I had never really been down that one before. I stopped and looked at all of them. Wine has some very beautiful names. I wonder who invented them and how they stayed in business and who buys them. Maybe they have different tastes even if they're just a tiny bit different. Like my orange juice vs. the same kind but with calcium added. I wonder if I would like the taste of wine. I randomly remembered then that Necia always wanted to name her kids Bergita and Berguta. Maybe one of the wines had a similar name.

Then I went in search of the coffee. But they didn't have pretty names like the wine.

And when I was done looking... I didn't want to go home. Home is way different now. Necia goes to college and has surgery and a potential fiancee. Ayla sings Jonas Brothers and stuff and doesn't know anything about growing up with 90s music. The little kids never play outside on rocketship trees, because we have five computers they can play on instead. Our house is way bigger and doesn't host blue carpet. But. I still don't have a bathrobe. And I still haven't ever tasted spaghettios.

Obsessed

I had a nightmare about my camera not working... I think I'm obsessed.

scents

I hate it when I randomly smell this scent when I'm doing nothing at all, like drinking orange juice or shampooing my hair or pulling the covers over me and my bear at night. It's so impossible for the scent to be there that it makes me mad.

I feel dumb.

What is this high everyone's talking about?

I barely felt a thing. And that makes me feel awful and totally selfish towards the people who tried so hard on making this camp the best. My mind was a little lack-luster.

The only time I cried was when EVERYONE else was sobbing and I couldn't feel a thing. It was like my heart broke. I felt homesick the entire time - something I haven't felt since I was nine and in Alabama with my grandma - and I just wanted to sleep the entire time, curled up with my teddy bear. And when we got those dog-tag necklaces it hurt.

And then I get home, and it feels empty a bit.

But that emptiness is probably just me.

memories suck at times. mostly.

I was looking through old photos ( I say old, not really) and I got to this one and I saw a comment and I died a little inside. Stupid memories.