Counting Down the Days

so, there are officially only four days laft until i move into my dorm room at college.  i'm getting really excited now.  i'm sure i'll be more nervous when i actaully get there. Doing all the shopping for the dorm was pretty fun though. i bought really cute plates and bowls and silverware.  i'm excited about being on my own.  the only thing i'm worried about is food.  i don't really like cooking for myself because i'm really bad at it.  but i'm sure i'll be able to adapt, it just may take some practice. i'll probably live off of mac and cheese and frozen pizzas for the first few months.  maybe one of my roommates will be a really good cook! you never know! it could happen.
i have friended two of my suitmates on facebook, but i haven't said antyhing to them yet and i won't really know what they're like until i meet them in four days! :)
until then,
-that one girl

A New and Exciting Adventure

so, up to this point this "blog" has pretty much been a bunch of random pieces of writing and rants about unimportant things.  now i am using this "blog" to document my transition between the life that i know now and the life that is about to begin. in exactly 8 days i will be 10 hours away from everything i have ever known, moving into a small, generic space with people i have never even laid eyes on before.  i will be going to college.  high school has officially ended. it's time for me to grow up. the problem is, i really don't want to grow up.  everything i have now is so great.  i love my family and my friends.  my sister and i are super close and now i have to leave her. 
                The school i will be attending in 8 days is huge, 32,000 students. coming from a small high school, less than 500 students, this new world is slightly daunting.  i have all the worries and fears that any soon-to-be freshman in college would have.  i hope my roommate is not too weird.  i hope i can make friends. i hope i can find my classes.  i hope i can handle the workload. i hope nothing so traumatizing that i will never recover happens.  in general i am simply afraid of being alone, without my family or bestest friends to lean on or ask for help. of course i can call them, skype them, chat with them on facebook, but you know as well as i do, that it won't be the same.
i am sad to leave and it's all coming so fast. but underneath all the fear and sadness about leaving, there is a certain amount of excitement. this is a new and exciting adventure. who knows what will happen next?
-that one girl

Thoughts on Christmas Eve

Christmas eve only comes once a year and here it is, right now, December 24, 2010. Each year it is different and each year it somehow looses it’s importance. As a child, I can remember not being able to sleep and waiting for weeks for the moment when i could go downstairs on Christmas morning and see all the things that “Santa” brought me. But now it seems almost a sad thing, knowing that this is another year that has passed and that i really don’t have that many more left. I know tomorrow morning, i will be wishing that i were back here again and tomorrow afternoon i will be wishing i could have that morning back. And someday years from now, when i am dieing, i will be wishing for any moment back just to relive it again, to have a second chance to make the difference i never did. But i don’t want to look back with that kind of regret and yet, i am unable to make myself be or do more than i am. I feel like a looser a lot of times and i want to do something, anything to leave a mark or make a difference. I believe everyone feels this way sometimes, but the question is “what do we do about it?” love. We were put here to love, not to be loved, but to love everyone. Am i doing this? That is the next question that i am forced to ask myself and i know everyone will agree that the answer to that question to “no”. I’m not loving everyone. I could make a list, a long list, of people i don’t love. So what is the next question? The next question is “Is it worth it? Is it worth it not to love those people that irritate and annoy you?”
And from a single thought on Christmas eve, a wave of questions and answers have followed. The difference to be made in this world isn’t peace or less poverty or better governments, it’s love, we need to love more. I think at the end of this life, if we have loved then we can be truly satisfied with the difference we have made, not necessarily in the world, but in the people who knew us. This is the greatest legacy we can ever leave behind and it will bring us the greatest reward in heaven. We will be able to say at the end that we have loved and loved well, not just one person or a handful, but everyone we ever met. And they, in turn will also be changed for the better.

that one girl

Rant

I am so lost sometimes! what am doing with my life, my relationships? It's all just falling to peices around me and I haven't the inclination or the knowledge how to stop it.  Goodness! I'm sure there are oodles of pselling and grammer mistakes in this, but just bare with me.  i am typing fast...I have to get this out.
what is it that makes someone who they are? Their past? The traits their born with? their friend and family???  why have I been cast a lot that seems so different??? I can't, for the life of me, figure out what my problem is...I kill everything I touch, relationships, memories, moments...they all crumble under my finger tips and leave me wondering what the hell I'm doing wrong. sometimes I think I should just lock myslef in a closet somewhere and let the rest of the world live on in peace without me...blah! I am so freaking overdramatic, i'm getting on my own nerves! haha
well, later then.
thanks for listening to that confusing little rant...
that one girl...forgettable, indistinguishable and unimportant

Hair = Life

Hair

The dictionary defines hair as the mass of fine flexible protein strands that grow from follicles on the skin of a person or animal, especially those on somebody's head. But I believe that hair is much more than this. Hair is a symbol of who we are. It is an expression of ourselves and an outward sign of how we are feeling inside. Hair is an illustration of a person’s personality. Hair is a reflection of life.
We all desire our hair to look perfect, without split ends or frizz. We want our hair smooth and glossy. We want our hair to look good enough to go out in public all the time. This is very similar to the way we view life. We often wish our lives were perfect, without the complications that so easily shatter this fantasy of a flawless life. We want life to be smooth, gliding along without troubles or anxiety. We want our lives to be picture perfect, ready for anyone to see.
Unfortunately, just like hair, life doesn’t always do what you want it to do. Some days, your hair is just determined to be a mess of frizz and some days, your hair refuses to curl the way you want it to. Likewise, life sometimes takes us in different directions than we would like to go. Every now and then, life seems determined to be difficult.
We try to fix these problems. We use shampoos, hairsprays, combs, flat-irons, hairdryers, conditioners, brushes, creams, dies and curling-irons. Sometimes these solutions work, but other times we have to simply accept that this is the way our hair is going to look today. Sometimes no amount of curling, straightening or creams can change what God has given us. The same with life, we can’t change the course our life is meant to go in. God has set us on a path and no amount of money, friends or good grades is ever going to change that. We try to fix life’s frizz with money and temporary solutions. And for a moment we fool the world into thinking that this is what we are. But then we have to realize that at the end of the day, what we have is what we get and even the temporary solutions won’t last.
Everyone is given a different life just like everyone is given different hair. Some of us get beautiful, practically problem-less hair and others get hair that they battle with every morning before they go to work of school. Life follows this pattern as the lives of each person varies like the hair they are given. Some people begin their days fighting a battle while others hardly have a thing to worry about.
　No matter how much distress we have because of our hair and to the end, life is like hair, it withers away falls out and slowly looses all it’s strength until it no longer become a part of who we are anymore and it no longer becomes the necessity or obsession it used to be. We hold onto it as long as we can, desperately trying to keep it from changing because we can’t bare to let it go just yet. This is like life, life slowly slips away from us until it is no longer a necessity and it is no longer a part of who we are. We are now gone, hopefully to a place where the worries of hair and life are no longer important and no longer dictate how is day is going to go


This is an unfinished piece I wrote a LONG time ago...

Baillie

Cigarettes. The smell of cigarettes. My arm hangs out the rolled down window of her beat up old jeep. A one hit wonder pop song blares from the radio. She takes another drag on her cigarette and taps the ash out the window.
“You gotta find who you are and don’t settle to be someone else just to make other people happy. What do they matter?” she drawls.
I nod in agreement, the words hitting me like cold water.
The first time I ever saw Baillie was also the last. She sat down beside me in defensive driving school She was tall and thin, with bright green eyes and a sense of strength that seemed to emanate from her being. Though one of the happiest people I have ever met, she had more reasons than anyone I’ve ever known to be angry and bitter.
Baillie was 19 years old. She had been abused by her mother, father, step-mother and harsh teachers. College had never even been an option for her. Instead she moved in with her boyfriend and got a job at a convenient store. She never got a chance to pursue her dreams.
It seemed that in one hour, Baillie told me all the things I had been needing to hear my whole life. The year preceding my meeting with Baillie was a year that had been particularly hard for me. I had struggled through school and my home life trapped in a mire of pity. I constantly wondered why I was being forced to endure the hardships that I was battling. Why me? My “poor me” attitude had arisen from my lack of identity and a selfish need to be seen. Through Baillie’s story, I saw how pathetic and selfish my tragedies were. Baillie had never gone to college, but she had a heart full of dreams and the will to pursue them. I realized how ridiculously lucky I was. I had everything she wished for. I had all the things that were just out of her reach. When I go to collaege, I will go, remembering Baillie, remembering that everything I have is gift and a blessing and that there are people who deserve this so much more than me.
“You’re lucky to have so much. Appreciate it while you have it.” Baillie’s words resonate through me, even now.
As she shared her dreams with me, I listened, amazed, and wondered how the world could be so unfair. How had I gotten so lucky? She deserved the life that I so easily took for granted.
Because I met Baillie, I now strive to appreciate every moment of my life and live for all of the people whose dreams never come true. College is step along the path, a piece of the journey, to my dream, because now I know who I am and that what I have is priceless.

She Writes

She's just a nerdy girl, sitting in her room at a desk, hidden from the rest of the world.  Books cover every available surface and seem to bury the girl as she sits there, typing away at her computer keys.  A package of vanilla waffer cookies sit beside her, half eaten.  Her heart is filled with hopes and dreams and stories and characters and ideas and words; all of it fighting to come outin an order that resembles coherenecy. She write because she needs to, she has to.  She can do nothing, but write and it is writing that truley frees her from the troubles that haunt her. Yet, no one has ever really told her if she was good at writing.  But the words that go over and over again in her mind are "I don't write because I am good at it, I write because I love it.".  These are her words, the words she tells herself everytime she is discouraged, everytime her dreams seem like they're crumbling away.  She writes on a blog, knowing that no one is reading it, but she doesn't care because she doesn't write so that people will read it, she write because she cannot stop. 

There is no greater agony for a writer than to bear an unwritten story inside them.