'Get it together.'

{ Saturday, April 21, 2012 }
The truth is, I don't.
I have nothing together.

I'm ripped at the seams half of the time, while the other half I'm scrambling for composure and grasping at the slippery straws of 'what to do next.' What an ugly cliché I have become.

I'm the soon-to-be leader, the journalist. The friend, the comforter. The daughter, the role model. It's a hard feat, all of it. I'm forever riding this equivocating seesaw of success and mediocrity, dreadfully straddling the fatal line of average and noteworthy.

I don't want to fall into the margins.
Smear into the pages.
Become a footnote in this wondrous journey.

New York said 'yes' to me tonight and I had to say 'no.' The words felt like razor blades coming out of my mouth. I had it. But poor timing and concrete circumstances snatched it away.

My hands have grown weary of constantly turning doorknobs; opening the doors all on my own. Sleepless nights. Writing. Editing. Coffee. Competing against a former self.

It's hard.

It's hard doing it on your own. I've worked on suppressing the fragment inside that calls out in the middle of the night for a caress, a word of encouragement, fingers to intertwine my own with. But it can't lie dormant forever. I can't be the only thing sustaining myself, and I hate admitting that for fear of weakness.

So, maybe I need to become a little more undone.
Or just 'get it together.'

Hemingway

{ Tuesday, April 17, 2012 }
Wearing dark circles under my eyes like they're the latest trend
And mulling over what to dwell on next.

Did you hear?
Infidelity is the new black
And it's rolling through town like a freight train.

All of the irony slices through me like a knife,
Yet I let the blade hover for a second too long --
An erogenous guillotine.

"When I said that'd I'd 'return to you,' I meant more like a relapse."
It stings, you know.
When you relapse, and relapse, and relapse.

And relapse.

So I cradle the book
And self-medicate loneliness with Hemingway.

Leaked, Maroon 5's "Payphone:" Thoughts, feelings and disdain

{ Sunday, April 15, 2012 }

I regret to say that I'm really disappointed with this. I know it's only a one-minute clip, but I've heard enough to be wary about the new album.

First off, "Payphone" is lacking any and all of the soulful, funky flavor that I love about M5. This could very well be any other song on Top 40 radio today.

Second, the lyrics are unequivocally surface level. Adam has pulled out all the stops in the past lyrically ("Sunday Morning" is so heartfelt; like it came straight out of a early morning journal entry), but these lyrics seem to be penned for their "sing-songy" quality rather than depth and resonance.

Last, the unnecessary use of profanity throws the entire chorus off. Dropping the "f-bomb" (although I am not a fan of it) actually worked in "Makes Me Wonder" because of the nature of the song, but the stringing of two profanities in a row here just comes off as trying too hard to come off as "wounded."

And Wiz Khalifa is supposed to fit into this equation, somehow?

I love M5 and regard them highly as my favorite group of musicians, but this little taste of "Overexposed" is bland. When "Misery" leaked in 2010, its infectious baseline and catchy lyrics equated to a single of epic proportions. Where is all of the funk hiding? Here's hoping that "Overexposed" doesn't fall victim to "overproduction."

'How are public libraries established?' And other late-night thoughts

{ Saturday, April 14, 2012 }
Honestly, though -- I have always wondered.
Obviously a boatload of books does not simply manifest overnight. How long does it take and what are the exact logistics behind cultivating these well-loved establishments? And once a library is up and running, when do you know that you have "enough" books? Where do you go from there?

Soda machines are also a conundrum. Their water supplies are endless. And their flavoring. I attribute it all to magic.

And what about words in the dictionary like "a," "and," "or," and "the." The most simple words are the hardest to define, while words like "superfluous" and "magnanimous" are no-brainers in the defining department.

Why do we drive on the parkway, but park in the driveway?

How did we decide that kissing is pleasurable? I mean, it most certainly is (well, it vacillates with the person), but it's a little unnerving to think that our predecessors first experimented with pleasure by locking faces. Weird.

Lastly, the mere existence of words baffles me. "Grass." Grass? "That green stuff on the ground. Let's call it 'grass.'" Regardless of the origin of words, I still love them dearly.

These are things that keep me up thinking at night, and have been, since I was five. Goodnight.

Taken For Granted, Granted, Granted

{ Wednesday, April 4, 2012 }
As I lounged on Front Campus this evening with the dimming skyline serving as a backdrop, my mind wandered to how I have listlessly slipped into taking things for granted. Not just things, but my life. I have unconsciously begun to take my existence for granted.

It's scary, isn't it, when you catch yourself wrapped up and living in your most vivid dreams -- the ones you never thought were attainable -- and you nod at them like a familiar friend.

In a few days I'll be on a plane to New York City, again. This time, for an interview. Back to the city that has sucked me in and completely demolished the soil I've grown from. Nothing can compare. This incessant wonder of the future is no longer dinner table chatter or family small talk -- it's happening. The words have finally paved the path to where I need to be. It's real now, and that fact chills me to the bone. Everything beating around in my chest for the past 15 years is materializing, and I don't know quite how to handle it -- yet.

I wish this flight was my one-way ticket out. Out of the familiar territory that I have grown so immune to, away from the faces that I to stare into, unblinkingly, and am forced to treat like perfect strangers, away from my aversion to vulnerability and the blatant ignorance of my feelings (all in the quest of "bliss," or something like it).

We all spiral into the clutches of this emotional epidemic one way or another. I ache for the things that God has promised me. The waiting period is strenuous, tedious and difficult to meander through, but I know it will be worth it.

Something changed in me tonight. Something good. Amazing things are happening right before my eyes, so long as I permanently turn from the setbacks, the vultures of my soul and complacency.

Fingerprints

{ Tuesday, April 3, 2012 }
And I drink it all in,
And I think of the bruises that are all faded and yellowed now.
The darkness,
And the childlike train of thought.
And I wonder if the bruises were worth it,
And I wish they didn't stick with me longer than you did,
And I wish that I could get away from here,
But I can't.