Trust me i am astonished with myself that I am writing more than once in a 24 hour span of time (it's the Gilmores, i swear). However, with this stream of consciousness as my best friend i thought i would hook my readers with some questions. If you read this often (and don't lie i know there is a handful of you out there), do me a huge favor and answer these questions. I am in need of some inspiration (the whole dark and sad thing is over rated).

First, i am a huge fan of parenthesis (you hadn't notice :). You have one pair, what goes in them?

Second, you have a chocolate cake and a pot of coffee, it is for whom?

You sit counting stars, how many are there?

You have a camera with an awesome lens but the memory card only holds ten pictures, what do you take them of?

No limits guys. I like inspiration :) Keep it coming.

My Gilmore Girl Life

It's six o'clock at night and i still can't believe i am sitting at my computer. It's practically been 24 hours, with the occasional break for Christmas cookies and laundry that i was bribed into doing, of staring at a screen. I have sat down to complete the ultimate task--watch every episode of Gilmore Girls. Though very 17-year-old girl of me, the show has pulled me in and forced me to think about the realities of life. Does true love find you? Or it is hidden in small towns like Stars Hollow where the produce guy and mayor both know your name? Are perfect mom and daughter relationships out there with the perfect balance of door-slamming fights and goofy movie nights full of $40 worth of candy? Or does the mistake of a 16-year-old pregnancy have a twist a normal family doesn't? And though my questions are silly, mostly consisting of the likelihood of Chad Michael Murray and I bumping in the hallway at school, i have also begun to notice the "perfect slices of life" in my own world.
I love walking down stairs and seeing coffee (even if Lorelei propelled the thought in my head) and knowing there's company there to sweeten the black in my cup. I love surrounding myself with fresh clothes and silly dvds and just enjoy being a girl while still getting something done. I love that when things go crazy silly mad in my life, home is not only at this keyboard, but in the millions of people around me, certainly worthy of a movie box cover. Life will never be a hamburger at Luke's, but it will always be full of people crazy about me and those i am so excited to be crazy for.
Thanks for joining my life, may it be through this silly blog or 8 hour Gilmore Girl marathons (Sabrina I love you). Thanks for loaning me your movies that give me a passion to write (Natasha) or giving me moments so perfect for pictures displayed on my wall (Michelle). Thanks for kicking me in the behind and reminding me i had a blog to update (Baby De) and for constantly checking on it even though we really don't 'know' each other (Brian). Thanks for listening to the shit i need to write about (Katie J.) and letting me talk about things you are sick of hearing (Natalie). Thanks for letting me be stubborn (George) and answering every gosh darn question a girl could think of (Nathan). Thanks for forgiving me if i didn't mention your name, but still understanding how crazy i am for you. Thanks for making my life as awesome as Dean's and Rory's but so much more fun to live. Here things are tangible and real and don't make your eyes see spots when you look up (trust me i have been watching forever!). Have a wonderful Gilmore Girl day. I sure know i will. :)

The last thing i needed was for his name to vibrate across my phone's screen again, and thus it did. His news was bitter-sweet; his parents are moving, austin will no longer be his home. He's coming Thursday to wave his goodbyes, and my arm is hesitant to lift in return. After all i have felt and cried for, what is the right thing to do? Morn the closing of a friendship or celebrate the loss of a heavy burden in my life? I need some help with this decision. Do i see him and say goodbye or keep on pretending like it never happened?

Hold my Weight

It’s 4 am and I can’t believe we still have things to talk about
I mean in two years you’d think we would cover it all
Sometimes the real us never comes out
Until we are dragged through the dirt
Hung low
Depressed
The tears, salty only a minute ago,
Run like sweet relief to my heart
I want it out.
I told you what it felt like the night I knew she betrayed me
The night I knew I would never trust again
I told you about the night I was willing to give him everything
What it felt like to be exposed in front of the world
I told you what it felt like to need to feel the pain so much
You would do it yourself
I told you about meeting him
Him number one
Every other him up until number four
I told you about number four
Number four was my best friend
I liked him best by my side
I liked him plus girlfriend
Plus mom without job
I liked him with two cups of sarcasm
A bowl for my tears
Plus one full ride to college
And an “I love you” to another girl
I liked him best by my side
Because he was my best friend
I told you what that felt like
I told you what it felt like the night I knew someone had done it again
Taken everything I worked for
Sold it for a cheap email address and some pictures
How much I cried and screamed and hated the world, then
I told you how number four was ten numbers away
The distance was over 3000 miles
I told you about losing my only friend
How she left only because I wanted to make her better
I told you what it felt like the night four called me
Sunken with drunken explanation
Low and behold,
He hated me too
I told you what it felt like
When what’s in your head becomes physical
About the first blackout
The first trip to the hospital
I told you about drugs so much cheaper than therapy
I told you my mom thought it was all my head
I told you what that felt like
For something in your head to
Make your legs numb
Your body shake
Keep you up all night
Insomnia screeching in your ear
Make your head spin
Your stomach churn
Your eyes leak
I told you what that felt like
I told you what it felt to get a hard dose of reality
What it felt like
The first day I knew I was depressed
I told you what it felt like to be me
See the world with eye spots
Nausea
Still love that girl who’s convinced the third abortion
Will never bring baby back
Love that girl so beautiful
Still fighting the scale
Still love that boy plus new girl
That mom
Confused with motherhood
I told you what it felt like to love
Only because you needed love that much
I told you about refusing to touch people
Knowing that one touch
I would give away all I had left
I told you about my strengths and my weaknesses
What it felt like to be weak
I told you and yet there’s so much I still want out
An infant trapped in my mind
Water broke
Contracting
Screaming for help
I want it out.
I want it out that
I don’t believe in
Anyone
Anymore
I want it out that I want to cry for no reason
For the world to quit wiping my tears
Let me run
I want it out that I need purpose
Give me one
I want it out
That love is so powerful
So girl with baby
Boy with lover
Quit wasting love on sex
I want it out that this world is so full of opportunity
Quit screwing it up for me
Quit closing my book
I have not finished
My body is strong enough to be thrust on the pages
Write my own story
I want it out
That I am sick of feeling it
This vomit has dried
You clean it up
You love me when I am sick
Sweaty
And a mess to be around
Love me because I am me plus four thousand problems
And a heart so ready to give back
I want it out because it’s ripping me
Raping me
Destroying all the hope I have left in this world
It’s 4 am, and I want out
Let my voice leak to ink
Let it dye your pages and run onto your heart
Let it out
So I can change the world
Before it changes me anymore
I am black
Cold
Shaken
I want it out
Will you take it
Hold my weight
I will breath again

Eye Sores

It’s one am, and when I thought the floor had just stopped spinning , I feel another wave of nausea swoon over me. It sucked, slowly paddling my fork through rivers of gravy on thanksgiving, not really up for eating. A day I usually loved, was getting blotchier by the moment. The eye spots were getting more and more difficult to avoid. I couldn’t make it through the 15 minute car ride, eyes so tired I fell asleep against the window.

I awoke, a headache was my morning coffee; right on time, but much too bitter. I wanted it to go away, but slowly popping pain killers that didn’t even damper the pain wasn’t the best option. It past, but slowly returned while my cousin pulled a straightener through my hair. I couldn’t hold myself up, too nauseous, and losing sight by the minute. I dropped to the floor as the color left. It faded back in slowly, but the nausea or head pains never left.

It happened 2 more times. Once later that day and of course once in the middle of the movie theatre. I got up, excusing myself, and dashed out, ready to escape the beaming lights of the movie screen.

It never left, the nausea or the pain, and the loss of color has become too common. My eyes are sore, straining too see clearly. Perhaps the solution is not black and white, but in the color that’s so often escaped me. I will feel better.

Thanksgiving Food For Your Thoughts

This is one of my favorite pieces of slam poetry. (Meaning i wrote and performed this piece.) It got me to the last round of state and brought me in at fifth in the state at the U21 Slam Off my freshman year. I hope you find as much humor in it as i do. Happy thanksgiving everyone :)

(And P.S. Don't think you can steal it. It's in the slam records as mine!)

FEAR

Fear has come on little cat feet

Wondering through allies licked with darkness

Slowly crawling through your window

Pushing back the curtains

And clawing at dainty queen Mab

And you only wish you were fearless

Becasue the feet of fear are dripping with blood

And its mouth is waiting for more

Fear Strikes Again

Aunty Ree is forcing me

To taste this years Thanksgiving surprise

And it's all a bad dream

Flashes of casserole dishes

Crusty brown ham soaked in syrup

Baked at 450 served with Mayo

A pie

Circular, yes, edible, no

It resembled the back of the head of the kid

Who sits in front of me in math and refuses to wear deoderant

She's made the puddings

For years she insisted eggs were the substitue for milk

And that sugar wasn't ever substitued

So i get this thing that looks like two-day-old eggs

Sweetened

And told to eat every last bite until my mouth quivers

Yes, fear has come on little cat feet

But with the tackiest apron in the world

And sometimes the fear is so deep pushing away my own flesh with its truth that i cry when she pushes a spoon full of banana soup into my mouth

And i let it ooze out the corners

Because it's that scary

Sometimes i feel bad

Refusing her tofu turkey

And her jellied ham

But i did not feel bad the year she tried to serve me fried frog legs with cranberry tartar

Looking her in the eyes and saying,

"Ree you're looking quite thin these days, have you been working out?"

And then allowing her to go off on a rampage about her new grapefruit diet

While i go out the door

But this year

Oh this year was bad

The wallpaper in her bathroom had started to peel with anticipation of what it would experience after this meal

Oh fear was striking hard

Because this year

She pulled out the big guns

Slicing Chopping

Baking Broiling

This year she served on paper plates

Because her substance might break her new china

This year she had made us

Chicken

Which she processed with

Mixed with green beans and beats

Pineapple and pumpkin puree

Formed into the head of Columbus himself

Baked it

Let it cool to room temperature

And then topped it with olive topinade

Made with pickles

Oh this year

My tummy wasn't strong enough to growl in the face of fear

It just ran

My legs buckled beneath me

I couldn't pay Columbus his respect today

But she insisted

Because the feet of fear are dripping with bacon grease

And reeking of old lady perfume

And my eyes begin to tear up

And i tried to eat fast enough so my taste buds wouldn't taste it

But against will

The flavors of her dish overflowed my mouth

And something began to come out of it that was so unexpected, unexplained

"Hey Ree, can i have some more?"

Tasting Tears

As I sat on the cold wooden-floor, its’ 2 feet base boards were all that could support me. I looked in her eyes. I didn’t care that my dance class was a hand reach away, poorly pointing toes and stretching hamstrings. I needed someone to talk to.

It had been a rough three months. A year started with terrible fights between friends and goodbyes, not even 2 hour phone conversations could mend, it was easy to say I was lonely. Torn between the ending of musical and the start of my phone ringing, these past two days were easily as bad as the past three months.

I must admit, I made the first move. I was talking to his ex-girlfriend, nonchalantly discussing his and my relationship. He was my best friend. The guy you call when it hits the fan, and the person you don’t mind lying in the middle of the road with, looking at the stars. We spent so much time together, racking up phone minutes and certainly never letting our fingers away from the all too constant texting. We were friends, no questions asked.

I knew he had a girlfriend. I was disgusted that a senior was dating a freshman and I never let him think differently, but he was my friend, so I supported him all the way. I supported him when he wanted to talk about how he loved her. I supported him the first and third break-up. I supported him through prom and the day we realized our tap video had hit youtube, and she was still figuring out how to dance. I supported him and respected him, so when the nonchalant conversation between her and I turned into, “Well, he never mentioned you,” I can’t really say I wasn’t completely shocked.

I suppose the sudden trash talk that slipped from my mouth wasn’t necessary. Nor the fact that she slipped away crying. Or my decision to call him and cuss him out, right in the middle of the party we were at. But he was my best friend and asking for an explanation was more than necessary. The stream of lies hurt a lot, begging me to hang up. A returned call, sunken with drunken explanation should have told me to just stop. I was cut deep. The guy who knew how much I had been through, who knew my history, something I never share, should have known better. He should have. But it never stopped.

I hit end and searched my phone book for a number to call and cry to. This was no time for stupid decisions, I should just cry it out. It was hard to find a name who I trusted, for I trust so few, but when I did, the answering machine told me to suck it up and move on. Thirty minutes later, eyes so blood shot from holding it in, were more than thankful to see her name on the caller id. I vented, for a long time to a girl who barely knew me. I was so willing to just get it out. About him. About everything. When she hung up, I stood up, feeling better that it was over, and joined my family to finish the night.

I was convinced I was stronger. That he was just a guy. That I didn’t need friends. I put it to sleep, but when I crawled into my bed his name vibrated on my bed stand. I rejected it at first, but I was convinced it was an apology waiting from my stamp of approval, so I called him back. It was the wrong decision.

Slurred by anger and probably alcohol, he began something so far from an apology, that I had to hold my breath. He began to tell me every negative, every awful, every unbearable thing about me. He created a list of things that gives a person a reason to hate me and dictated them to me. He said such awful things that I lost all strength to defend myself. I wanted to fight back. I wanted to say I didn’t believe him, but he was my best friend. If I couldn’t believe him, who could I believe?

I looked at the clock, stunned that he could drag on a minute past the current 36 minute toll of our conversation. “You jerk,” was all I could whisper into the phone, as I hit end.

I didn’t cry, he didn’t deserve my tears. I just closed my eyes and slipped into sleep. I stumbled through the morning, begging for a friend to see me and help, but none did exists.

My vision is still impaired, convinced friendship is a faux. I can’t believe in believing. If you can… tell me your story.

Passion

Writing is my passion. It always has been and i hope it always will be. It is my lover that never walks out, but stands firmly as my tears are leaked onto my keyboard. It never grows weary of my words, but listens softly as i write my own beginnings and complete my own ends. It is my soft release when things get rough and my happy smile when i just want to talk. But school essays and newspaper poetry can only be stretched so far, so this blog shall become my source for all things real. For the touching of the intangible. For the stretching of ideas and the creation of new ones. It will be a reflection of my life and all the things i live for. It will be the missing piece to my writing and my inspirational gap to fill. It is my lacuna, feel free to step inside.