Thanks I am giving

I look at whats happening in the world and how can I not be thankful? 429 people dead in Cambodia after a stampede, 29 miners dead in New Zeal, North Korea going to war with South Korea, people stranded in a blizzard, mysterious disappearance of a college student, the brutal murdering of a family in Ohio and what am I complaining about?

I'm single, I'm alone, I'm graduating, I don't have a job, I'm not in grad school, I'm a screw up, no one wants me, I want my own place. . .blah blah blah. When did everything in my life become about only me?

It's Thanksgiving and what do I have to be grateful for? I think the question is: what don't I have to be grateful for? Right now I am sitting at my mac laptop with a warm blanket wrapped around me and I'm listening to soothing music. I just finished eating pie and playing outside. How ideal is my life? How blessed am I? How undeserving am I of these blessings? Completely.

I have a family that will always love me, that will always take care of me. I have friends that love me, that will always take care of me. I even know almost complete strangers out there that would love me, that would always take care of me.

I need to stop thinking about who doesn't love me, who doesn't want me. I need to work more on loving and wanting. All that I have, all that I am is not my own to claim. I may be "alone" but the beauty of it all is that I'm not really "alone".

I'm grateful, thankful, worshipful of the God that loves me enough to put up with my complaining, my bits of rebellion, my bad attitude, my too often confused and easily impressionable heart. I'm grateful for a Savior that gave up everything, not because He wanted glory, not because of the blessings but because He loves me, loves all of us to give it all.

I turn my face toward the sky, I fall to my knees and I thank my God for the wonderful agency, the wonderful blessings, the wonderful life that he has given me.

Mine forgotten, yours forever remembered

So much to say. So, I won't say

I'll let you read these words, I'll let your mind play

You'll think I mean one thing, then another

Think it has to do with each other, have to do with together

The silence. . .do you hear?

Nothing

It's how I feel, for you I mean

Used to feel so much but as freud say, my slate is clean

I'm born again, born again

Do I remember when? I don't even remember you. . .

Whose this person in my face questioning me through?

So this silence I give

Its not a second chance for us to live

For what is there to live? I don't know you

I have no interest this time, was there a time before?

You keep telling me we know one another

I should recognize you, but there was no before and definitely no after

And so I zip it up and the key I toss away

My mind is empty of you while yours is full of us, of yesterday

And you start to apologize and my eyes ask what

You begin to believe there was no us

Because as far as my mind concedes now there hasn't, wasn't, isn't

Silence, do you hear?

You don't, you won't

I walk away, my mind at peace, at ease

You're left there standing, your head heavy, the thoughts never to leave

Back me up but my numbers will stay low

If I had a quarter for every time I had a practically complete stranger come over and attempt to make out with me. . .I'd probably have about two dollars. I don't understand what it is I am doing that men think I'm easy.

A couple years ago they wouldn't have touched me and now. . . I do flirt but its the ones I don't flirt with that try and make a move. All I did was give him some left overs. I didn't even join in with the eating. I set him at the opposite end of the table. Does that sound like flirting? To make it even better I was tired and so most of my answers were half-butt. I told the guber that I had to leave and do some homework and so we both moved to the door. It had snowed a few inches and so we began the bundling process.

This twerp, with bushy, grinch eyebrows and a body half the size of mine decides he's going to back me up against the door and try kissing me. At first I was so shocked that all I could do was move my head before his lips could touch mine. He ended up on my neck and the whole time he kept twitching--skinny people tend to be like this, must be all that skinny energy--and I made attempts to kindly push him off.

"Why won't you kiss me?" and then "You know you want to?" Sure, maybe I did want to do some kissing, and at first I didn't back off but I blame that on the full moon and the randomness of his actions.

So, I told him my reasons for not making out--at least I was kind enough to say nothing about how unappealing he was and how I would kick myself for letting him get on my list of men I've kissed (thank goodness he didn't get on that list). Here's my reason: I'm keeping my numbers low.

I've already kissed a few guys, but at least I liked those ones and we had a sort of relationship. I refuse to make out with complete strangers or even semi-strangers. I won't let myself become a lip-slut. I think kisses are sacred and special. So if you're thinking of coming over, eating my food and then backing me up against a door to get some action. . .you had better think again.

Ditto

Ditto. The words of "Unchained Melody" and the face of Patrick Swayze swim through my head. I may romanticize love a lot more than I should. Maybe that is my problem. I've always been a mooshy-romantic ever since I could walk. I've fought it harder than anyone I know but I can't completely kill the romantic monster that hides with in me.

As a kid I would always marry the boy doll to the girl doll right after they fell hopelessly in love. Falling in love was never far from my romantic mind. I played house, sometimes by myself and I used to make-up love scenes while I rode my bike(ie. motorcylce, horse, convertible) through the woods and around the neighborhood. The scenes always ended or began where someone always found me, rescued me, wanted me, fell in love with me.

I used to daydream up the most fantastical love scenes. I dreamed of being swept off my feet. Sometimes knights came for me, other times cowboys, bikers, rich men or one of the kids I was crushing on at church.

But its not easy for a little girl to openly be a romantic when she's surrounded by her rough-housing brothers.

So, I pushed the romantic away. I kept it locked it away. For the most part I denied that I believed in love. I won spitting contests, could sword fight any kid in the neighborhood, out-skated all the boys, believed tackling was ok in soccer and acted as though the idea of love were sickening.

The anti behavior became a true feeling, eventually. But, alas, I came to college and my raging hormones started to take full swing. This made it even harder to contain the romantic beast that continually exposed me to hopelessly romantic beatings. But I mistakenly tried falling in love and I usually succeeded but its difficult to truly fall in love when the other party is pitted against you.

And after each love affair ended I would promise that I'd still fight it. Even now I tend to scorn the loved and loving. I scorn them, not because I'm jealous but because I'm fighting it, fighting the hurt that I am bound to experience time and time again it seems when I reach for the love that so many others are blessed to have in their lives.

And so I continue to love in vain. But thats ok because I maintain the facade of not. I've denied having ever put any piece of my heart within in reach of a mans greasy, dirt-clogged, fingernailed hands but I did. I claimed it was lust but often times I really was feeling love--at least some degree of it.

I mean, how often will a girl climb into attics and pat down insulation for the man she loves? How often will she walk 1/2 a mile in negative degree weather to see the man she loves? But this man broke me and the man after that broke those broken pieces the one after that took those chipped pieces and ground them under the heel of his boot.

People kept telling me, "you're only twenty, you shouldn't be that hardened, that hurt and you shouldn't care so much about love and marriage." What does that even mean? Does this mean that I have no feeling? Does it mean that I am young and don't really deserve to fall in love? I keep denying and pushing the idea of love so far from me that I truly believe I can't find it or am afraid of what it will look like when I do. I don't think about it often, only at night when sleep evades me.

I even tried fighting love with lust in hopes of freeing my mind and getting a good nights sleep. It was when I was broken, crushed several times that I started making-out with a guy that looked like a puppet from the Labyrinth and whose name rhymed with Model--apparently I have a penchant for dating guys with weird names; at least, this one didn't have a girls name. I thought this would take me further from the idea of love and romance. I thought it would numb me and it did. I soon realized that I didn't like who I was becoming. You spend enough time around a hardened, numb man and you'll start acting like them. I soon learned I'd rather be alone and hurting then numb to feeling as he had become.

No matter how much I fight the romantic, its still there, still fighting. I have this unreasonable idea that anything can happen and if I'm doing everything exactly right then some man will look at me with adoration--not just lust--and I will return that look.

You can't break a romantics spirit, no matter how hard you try. Maybe be it won't happen today, maybe it won't happen this month, this year, this life but someday my prince will say "I love you" and I'll say "ditto."

Arms Wide Open

I ask her if she wants see mommy and she throws her arms out at me. I pick her up, I zip up her coat and she puts her arms around my neck, she looks at me trustingly, she knows where I am taking her. I carry her outside, down the steps and as we round the bend she pushes to be out of my arms. I sit her on her feet. She begins to run and her mother puts out her arms. The little girl who looked so trustingly at me yells "momma" and runs into her mothers arms.

Those arms aren't mine. Those may never be my arms. They're arms that lead to hands that teach, guide, protect, love. I can't imagine the love a mother must feel for her children. They tell me there is no love like it, they tell me I can't fathom it. But sometimes I dream and I begin to imagine. The feeling of something belonging to me, being a part of me. I realize at this moment that I've barely begun to experience some of the greater joys in this life.

The feelings I have now are so selfish. I am working on those feelings but there is almost nothing more selfless than the love of a mother. I can't wait for the day when its all sacrifice all love on my part. I can't wait for the day when the word "mother" will apply to me. I can't wait for her to run to me with open arms.

FEED ME

Every time my stomach growls I picture a giant, green potted plant with its mouth open, saying in a deep, husky voice, "feed me.".

I've recently become a very, very hungry college student. I used to say no to free food offers (FFO) But with the reality of college ending and my debt forever increasing, I've become extremely. . .desperate for food. You would cringe if you knew what I've eaten lately and I'm sure I will cringe someday too.

Because of the lack of food in my life I now feel that it is a requirement for a man to feed his date, his woman, his lover, his wife. Any chick involved in a man's life, any chick that reaches outside the friend term should be fed.

If you ask me on a date, then you had better plan on feeding me. That had better be the first thing we do, since it will probably be my first meal that day. As a matter of fact, if you ask me on a date then you had better greet me at the door with a meal in your hands (in your arms would be even better cause that means theres more)--preferably a hamburger or Teriyaki Express or something that will feed me the next day too.

Forget being a gentleman, forget planning a date, forget it all but DON'T forget the food. Girls deserve to be fed. If I'm going to get dressed up, play put-put, walk around the park, or be chased around in the dark while you are pointing a laser tag gun at me then you had best be feeding me too.

I don't care if your parents disowned you and you're on your own. I don't care if you donate plasma every week because you are so poor. If you take a girl on a date then find a way to FEED her.

Girls, don't let him get by without feeding you. If he doesn't feed you then he doesn't get a second date.

I don't care if you forget to open the door, forget to seat me properly, forget to be a gentleman, forget to even wear your pants. I don't care if you try and make a move on me, I don't care if you smell like garbage. If you feed me a great dinner then I'll make sure we have a good time.

So, FEED ME!

This isn't finished but its how I'm feeling

WikiLeaks recently released 400,000 classified U.S. Army field reports from the Iraq reports. The documents featured information on the death of civilians, detainee abuse and actions by Iran during the war.

Was wikileaks justified in this release? Are they justified in their other releases.

Along with this, does our government stop our speech too much? Do we take advantage of our rights?

The 1st Ammendment says that we have freedom of Speech, the right to speak freely and without censorship.

We cannot place control on the words of our citizens in this country, nor should we ever but our citizens need to think about what they’re saying and why they’re saying it. Do their words accomplish anything? Do they have good intent with what you are trying to say or are you seeking attention and drama.

I sometimes worry that in our need for “freedom of speech” we could be endangering our country but at the same time how often does our government take advantage of this fear and we allow them to silence others?

Are we letting our government slowly taking control of every facet of our lives. What are we, as a country, willing to sacrifice in order to be safe? What are our limits? Do we give up too much freedom in the name of a “safety” and “security?”

These documents could potentially get into the wrong hands and could put our country in a great deal of trouble. They could also get officials in a lot of trouble. Do we want them to be getting into trouble or were their actions justified?

In the name of safety, in the name of security we allow the government to tap into our phone and Internet conversation. Is there nothing sacred, nothing private?

Its not a big deal. They’re just tapping into our phone and internet conversations to guarantee our safety by catching “terrorists.”

But with this one justification we will begin to justify things more and more.

I was told that our country is a democracy but every time I turn around I see it becoming a socialistic nation. While helping the poor and needy is good, shouldn’t we be given that decision? Along with this, are we really just helping the poor and needy?

We don’t offer them the chance to fix their lives, become better people, instead we offer them food stamps and free money. How does this encourage work? How does encourage anything except an increase in people taking advantage of the money the government gives out so wastefully.

Is it justified taking away our speech in the name of safety? Is it justified taking away the money of the productive to help the “poor and needy”? \

Jerks. . .mmmmmmmm

Who ever heard of fighting for a jerk? Shouldn't we fight for men of honor, chivalrous knights who are looking for their princess?

Should we even fight at all? I don't think so. It's a waste of time. I've spent a good deal of time fighting for jerks, many jerks, the worst of jerks or probably the best of jerks because they were tremendous jerks.

I still like jerks, lust for jerks and I make out with the occasional jerk--just one right now, thanks for asking--but I won't fight for one.

I know whats good for me and they're decidedly not. My relationships with jerks can be compared to my relationship with snakes. I'm intrigued with snakes, I dream about snakes, I'll hold snakes, go to the zoo and look at snakes and even read stories about snakes swallowing men whole. Will I ever own a snake? No.

I'll eventually acknowledge that I want more than a jerk. I claim I want to settle down but I must not want to settle down too much. I avoid nice guys. They're a nice idea but they hold no appeal for me right now.

Maybe its because I'm a jerk? I don't know. Jerks. . . mmmmmmm.

Choking on love

You ever love somebody so much you can barely breathe? I choked on the last person I loved. I bit into that apple and tried to eat its core and gagged.

My lover didn’t’ catch my breath, didn’t steal my breath, didn’t rob me of breath instead he gagged me for breath. I initially could’ve spat him out but I didn’t want to let go of the tastier parts, the initial sweetness of the fruit. Inevitably he became lodged in my throat.

I stood gasping while friends came and attempted the Heimlich but I would have none of it and I pushed them away. It wasn’t until my face turned blue that I took the chair offered my and I pushed in and up until I forced the core from my throat and forces him from my life. Since then

I’ve choked a little on spit but I’ve never lost breath. I begin to doubt if someone will ever truly take my breath away. I begin to doubt if there will ever be someone that will give and take breath from me.

Boxed in

They stuck me in a box, closed the lid, flipped it upside and down and sat on it. I kicked and screamed but to no avail. Big brothers don’t care much when their kid sister cries unless she’s bleeding or Moms within hearing distance.

While I initially kicked and screamed at this treatment, I soon learned that the trick was to pretend that it didn’t bother me. I’d sit in my prison quietly. While I was suffocating inside I would pretend their torture didn’t bother me.

There are some days where my uncertain future makes me want to kick and scream. Some days I do; I rebel. Most days I don’t. I silently suffocate inside. I ignore it though; I try to trick it away.

I find distractions and sometimes . . .oftentimes they’re not good distractions. Sometimes I bang on the piano, I stick my blades on and skate till I can’t breathe, I spend long hours at the office studying and some times I distract myself with men.

I acknowledge that my life is missing many essential qualities, I admit that my future becomes more mysterious each day and each day I change. I fight the box I’ve been placed in. I fight the confines that I and others have placed around me.

Next time someone sticks me in a box I’ll bring a knife.