Journal 11.8

This past year I've been trying to figure out what it means to be an adult. I thought that 18 was the line, but apparently you're still a teenager. Then I thought 20 was the difference, but I didn't feel anything. Next comes 21 and alcohol. Is that what makes us adult? Being able to make bad decisions and get shitfaced? And what about those that "grew up too fast"? Or those that "never grew up"? Is responsibility the deciding factor?

What is responsibility? The ability to be responsible? To follow through with your promises? To be able to look out for yourself? I've been mostly on my own for three years. I've paid rent, I've kept the same job, I've gone grocery shopping, I've done the dishes and cleaned the bathroom. Does that make me responsible? Does that make me an adult? I don't feel like I deserve the title.

I never wanted to grow up. Never. People say that they look back and wish they'd taken advantage of their childhood... I knew what I had when I had it. I'd be playing hide and seek, and I'd think, "in a couple years, I won't fit back here anymore." I enjoyed the fact that my parents made dinner and all I had to do was put five plates on the table. I knew that back then, it didn't really matter if I did my homework right after school or if I stayed up late doing it, I could go outside and play. I knew that my parents weren't happy with their jobs, and that I probably wouldn't be either. But I didn't have to worry about that. The most on my mind was the cute boy two desks down. Whether I could get to the swingset before they were full. Whether I wanted the nacho lunch or the corndogs for lunch. I knew what I had, and I didn't want to leave it.

Based on what actions give me guilt, and which actions give me a bitter satisfaction, I think that adults weigh what they want to do against what they need to do, and set aside their desires. This past semester, I've been regressing. Almost to the point of jeopardizing my grades. I've made orange juice popsicles, I got a hold of sippy cup tops, I've been watching movies when I should be doing homework, I even sucked my thumb to remember what it was like to have a self-comfort system. And I know that these things are not adult. That an adult would let them go and fulfill their responsibilities. I'm not ready. I never wanted to grow up, and I certainly don't want to now. But I have no choice. It's either this path of dissatisfaction and denial, or the street. Because that's where I'll end up if I let go of everything. And don't try to tell me that there's a balance. Children don't want balance. They want black and white. Either what I want, or what I don't.

Journal 10.30

My word, that was harder than I thought. The three janitor pieces are all attempts to communicate the single, same idea. The thought entered my mind and I tried to describe it and flesh it out a bit. Hense I. Though it went in a different direction than I wanted. In it, the shrink came to the house. I meant to show that we left our junk in their office, so I tried again. But I couldn't shake the cooperative cleaning. So finally, after a third attempt, which is also the shortest, I think I finally came as close as I'm going to on this. Bon apetite.

Psychologists are the janitors of our minds III

I walk in, loaded down with crap. Everything I’ve been collecting
Since my childhood. Slowly, I separate my self from my issues.
They become a pile on the carpet next to my chair. Afterward,
I feel light, clean, and I think I smiled. I left my crap where it fell.

Psychologists are the janitors of our minds II

Psychologists are the janitors of our mind.
We enter their offices covered in angst, despair, depression,
Hatred, pity, loathing, sadness, stress, issues, and family.
They pull out the fire hose and rinse us off.
Then they grab the soap and industrial gloves and get to work.
These problems won’t solve themselves. That’s why they
Have solution. Together we remove all those nasty things
That have been festering for years, just drop them on the carpet.
We leave smiling, squeaky and sparkly. We leave our problems
In their office. They’re the janitors. It’s their job to clean up
After us.

Psychologists are the janitors of our mind I

Psychologists are the janitors of our mind.
They knock gently and wait for us to let them in.
Going from room to room, they point out the tough stains.
“How long has this been here?” They wonder.
“Don’t you know that you’re supposed to throw this out?”
We sit back and try to relax, while they walk around our psyche
With a vacuum cleaner, but every time the machine catches on
Something large, we flinch and show that we really were paying attention.
Then they pull out the dust cloth, and we really start to sweat.
“You don’t need to go in there.” We tell them.
But with persistence, or perhaps when they’re done with everything else,
They make their way back into the corners that have been mildewing
For years, and with their Freudian carpet cleaner, they attack the nastiest spots.
Finally they pack up their gear, hand us the bill, and walk out with a whistle.
We shut the door, marveling at the fee. Then we stand uncomfortable,
Unfamiliar with this space that was once our own.
And despite the knowledge that eventually we’d have to call them back,
We can’t stand the white and the stench of cleaning solution,
So we spill our coffee onto the carpet.

I am not the lost sheep

I am not the lost sheep,
I am not the prodigal son.
I obediently stayed at home,
I am with the other 98.

I envy the lost sheep,
I am jealous of the prodigal son.
My father killed not the calf for me,
My shepherd has not carried me home.

I stumble within the herd,
I falter in my work,
But my father is watching for my brother,
My shepherd is out searching for the lamb.

I stare at the pit,
I know where to find sin.
I know that a rebuke is still attention,
That to be dragged by the neck is still to be touched.

But the shepherd sees my mind,
My father’s disapproving eyes make me consider.
So I return home, untouched,
I back away from the pit.

I hide in the center of the herd,
I work the fields with the servants.
But he left the party to talk,
And he reached out his staff
To tap my head.
He cares for me.

To All Literary Professors

My professor is a valiant knight
protecting the fortress of her convictions.
It has taken her a lifetime to build,
using bricks of books and cemented with historical perspective.
We lay seige to her castle
attempting to tear it down.
To exploit her holes, her seeming weak structure,
to build our own upon her rubble.
Her one goal is to defend her fortress.
To prove her stance, and win us to her cause.
Sometimes she cheats.
But then, sometimes she has to.

Present Life Lesson: Humility

There are times in my life when God needs to apply a 2x4 to my head. These, I am sure, are times when the gentle nudges were unnoticed, and are the final resort of a Teacher needing to impart a lesson. The current lesson is: (check the title) Humility. The acknowledgement that alone, I can not do anything. Or at least, anything good or worthy. So far, it's been a rather gentle 2x4 experience, no nails yet. He started with a definition of humility in a sermon.

Humility is: acknowledging that we need God to help us. One of my friends told me once that she saw God as a crutch. Yes, to a healthy person, a crutch slows us down, gets in our way, and weakens us. But ask a person with a broken leg who can't put weight on it without excruciating pain how they feel about a crutch. Guess what? Our legs are broken. We need a crutch in order to function. And if we can't acknowledge that, God will break our legs.

Yes, that seems ruthless, and mean, but it is necessary. In order to prove to us how much we need Him, He will take away His crutch, and let us fall. He will bring us low in order to raise us up again. But the point in raising us is that He actively does it to us, we don't pick ourselves up.

I used to not (and still don't, as I am in the process of learning my lesson) understand how we needed God for every little aspect of our life. Why I should be in constant communication with Him throughout my day. Surely I can handle most of my life on my own, I only need help with the tough stuff. I see ungodly people prospering, and so my logic is: if they can do that well on their own, without God, then surely, I can go as far without Him, and He'll supplement for me in my life what they don't have. But that is one definition of pride. "I can do this on my own. I am self-sufficient. I don't need you." Or even, "surely God has more important things to deal with, why would He care about these little details?"

But the thing is, not only is He powerful enough to help us handle the little details in our lives as well as everything else going on in the universe, but He already does. He cares about the little things that matter to us, and He's already involved, it's just that we don't recognize Him. That's part of humility. Recognizing what He does, and giving Him the credit. If we don't, He'll remove his crutch until we do. And it's not being mean. For all the blessings He gives us, for even just being Him, the fact that He is what He is, He deserves our praise and acknowledgement. It's not too much for Him to expect from us. And if we're dense enough to need a rough wake up call, and that's what it takes, then we deserve it.

I said that this particular lesson was more gentle than usual, for me. Instead of dropping me to the ground, He showed me an obstacle in my path, and pointed out to me that with my broken leg, I COULD NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT GETTING ACROSS. Together, tonight, we have taken the first step through this obstacle. Time, humility, and patience will show me whether or not God will bring me through this obstacle unscathed. But even if I do get hurt, it will be nothing compared to the absolute disaster I would have brought upon myself, if I had tried it alone.

Labeling Forever

Shivering, shuffling, scooting down the hall,
Pushing, pulling, kicking the stupid flat.
Searching, seeking for my predecessor's place,
Finding, feeling, taking and opening.
Groaning, grumbling, shutting mine eyes,
Picking, placing, covering, stamping.
Replacing, removing, endlessly repeating,
Impractical, impossible, a feat a decade long.
Bending, breaking under the Hunt's lash,
One day I'll shove this label right up his

Journal 10.9

I won't go into why I was thinking of this, but anyway, when I was five I got my ears pierced, and from then until I was ten I wore earrings on and off, and after ten, I stopped. Now, my lobes didn't really close up. Cartiledge grew back in, but it was a thin layer, easily punched through for special occasions.

When I was 16, I decided to wear an earring. Just one, because I thought it would be an individual thing. I picked one of my mothers loopy ones, that don't have a rod to stab your neck with, and it happened to have a lot of glass "diamonds" so it was really sparkly.

"I'm thinking about wearing an earring." I said to my friend. "Oh," said she, "only one?" "Yeah, which side do you think it should go?" "Well, if you're gay, you wear it on the left." "Really? On the right it is."

A few months later, I was visiting my dad in another part of the state. We all went over to the neighbor's, and there was a boy about my age there, wearing a single earring on the left. Mentally, I giggled at him. I knew he wasn't gay, but I suspected he didn't know the statement he was making. Anyway, he's laughing with his brother, and then he came over to me.

"So, you're only wearing one earring?" "Yeah." I was thinking, 'so are you.' "And you're wearing it on the right?" "Yeah?" 'You're wearing yours on the left.' He and his eavesdropping brother exchanged knowing smiles and then he walked away. It was about then that I realized that perhaps in different areas, the gay ear may switch. We had been laughing at each other, basically for growing up somewhere else. Unfortunately, I had been more able to conceal my mirth, so he didn't know that he was actually the gay one.

Another thing, people aren't very perceptive. I wore that one earring for a good 9 months, and people didn't realize it. They either thought I didn't wear earrings, or that I had two. I know this because when I'd point it out to them, they'd inspect both sides of my head and agree with me. Then they'd marvel that they hadn't noticed before (Like I said, it was a pretty gaudy earring). They did the same thing when I dyed half my hair candy apple red. I had zigzagged the part, so that I had red streaks on one side, and blonde streaks on the other, and people thought I just had put some red streaks in, or that I had dyed it all red and left some blonde streaks. Apparently people only look at one side or another of my head and assume the other side matches.

I hate names!

I dread them. Yes, they're fun at times. It's always fun to take your name or your friends' names and learn what they mean. And I believe that names are important. I think they have an effect on the personality of the kid they belong to. So when I'm writing, I can't just pick a name out of thin air (like some people I know) and move on. No. I need to find a name that FITS the character. Do you know how hard it is to look up the meanings of names? To think of a single word that MAY embody this character, look up names that match, decide that none of them fit, and then try to think of what OTHER word may also embody my character? Oh, and even worse, after I've found a suitable first name, how the hell am I supposed to come up with a last name? They have meanings too, though they refer to the past generations of the character, while the first name is pertinent only to the present generation. Most name books/sites only care about first names. Who wants to look up last names? Only authors without the ability to name their characters. Normally babies come with last names already, the parents only need a first name, and it is to parents that these sites cater to.

I'm to the point where I don't want to introduce any new characters. I hate it. But it's unavoidable. And I put off the naming for a page or so. My characters frequently have no manners, so they don't bother introducing themselves to each other until later, and then when it becomes absolutely necessary, I realize that I brought in a new character, and before I can write another word, I need to pick a name for them. Urgh!

I need to hire an official name picker. Their sole job would be to research possible names for possible characters, so all I'd have to do is email them with a description: "SWF 5'7", brown hair and eyes, Likes walking on the beach, hates dogs and tequila, and will die a horrible death in chapter 6." and they'll email me back with: "Deadlia Girlio." Okay, well, they'd come up with something good, since that's what their job would be. Obviously, that was a bad example, cause I can't come up with names.

I cry at this part in "Babe"

If I had words to make a day for you,
I'd sing you a morning, golden and new.
I would make this day last for all time,
And give you a night deep in moonshine.

To the blonde in my Poetry class

World on a plate,
Men's hearts on strings;
Twiddle your fingers and
Your desire they bring.

If men were free,
That would not do.
Draw out your smile and
Once more their hearts lasso.

Your looks an art,
Your mind you drop,
Unnecessary, for
Duck your head, the world stops.

I am a bitch

And I don't know what to do about it. I don't even know when I'm doing it. My friends assure me that they don't notice it, but if they thought about it, about the very first time they met me, what I said in front of them, how I said it, I'm sure they'd remember that I am a bitch, it's just that after you get to know me, you don't notice it. My family has no problem reminding me that I tend to come across too strong.

And there's another thing. My entire life, my parents have told me how to deal with my siblings. "Well, that's just the way she is, and you have to..." "When he gets like that you need to..." I'll tell you something right now. The reason why they told me how to change and accomodate their personalities is because I can change. Do you think they ever went to her and said, "Jackie just does that. And when she does, you need to do this to keep things calm." No. Because she's got too strong a personality, and she's not about to change.

I fought with her, and during it, I'm noticing, she's the one raising her voice and freaking out. She's twisting my words, shoving fallacies down my throat, and trying to discredit me in order to win. And then when we get home, she brings Mom into it, even though I thought we'd agreed to disagree, but no, apparently she can't settle for a draw. And then Mom is reading into the conversation and taking her side, even though the first thing Mom did was agree with me on the argument. "She's the one freaking out," I say. "Well, you do tend to not pay attention to your tone." "Yeah, it was your tone, I was reacting to your tone." She didn't even think about that until Mom told her. She'd been misrepresenting me in the review of the conversation before that. "She was screaming, 'you're offending me, and my God.'" Which I absolutely did not say.

My tone. Like you can watch your tone. You can watch your volume. But when you're talking, you just say it. Actors sometimes can't use a certain tone even if they're coached on it and told to do it. And I'm supposed to make sure that no one gets put off by my tone. And I don't know when I'm doing it. Like sometimes I think I might have been bitchy, and so I obsess over it, but then there's the little doubt, that maybe I didn't, and I'm obsessing for nothing. Is anyone ever going to walk up to someone I just met and say, "Don't worry about it, that's just the way Jackie is. Once you get to know her, you totally get used to it." No.

Is this keeping people from liking me? No one's asked me on a date in five years. But plenty of guys like me. I swore to myself that I wouldn't pursue guys, but if I lowered myself, I'd go out. Are they afraid to appoach the bitch? Or am I just vain and I think they like me? Is my bitchiness keeping me from making friends? Is this something I need to get rid of in order to be happy, or is this something I need to accept about myself, and screw anyone, including my family, who can't deal with it?

To Cassandra

Gently I undress her,
Set her between my thighs,
Lay her against my chest,
And wrap my arms around her.
My Cassandra, how I love
The feel of your neck,
To press my cheek
On your shoulder,
And to run my hand
Down your curves.
Alone, you are silent,
But together,
Beautiful music is made.
Your vibrations resonating
In my bones.
Moving fast, or tantilizingly slow,
Across your body.
Finished, I collapse.
Your love exhausts me.

*Note: Cassandra is the name of my cello.

Creative spew

I want to write something. I like to write. The feel of the keys as I push them down, the flow of the letters, the interruption of a misspelled word, the back spacing. The rush of a sentence without mistakes. The smooth gliding of ink on paper, the flourishes handwriting gives to intense words, the subtle clues in the slant of the words, the beauty of words crossed out in graphite, written back in above, erased, and finally, replaced. I have nothing to write about. I have a number of halfcompleted stories, episodes, teasers of plot lines that I haven’t reached yet, but nothing I can continue without the guilt of raping a story. Is there something I could write right now? Just make something up? Part of my problem is that now I like to know where I’m going with a story. Map it out ahead of time. Well, I’ll need a setting. Oh, my kidnapped story. Have I started that? Don’t think so.

What's going on here?

I leave home for a couple months, and both my parents start dating. They were divorced, so it's not like they both spontaneously started cheating on each other. But it's been ten years, and it's my dad's first girlfriend in that time, and my mom's had a few short term boyfriends since, and it seems both of them have found someone pretty compatible. I don't want to jump the gun and say that they're both going to work out, but both relationships seem pretty strong.

My dad says he feels guilty about how well he's getting along with his girlfriend. Like, if he could make this work, then he should have been able to make it work with Mom. But I don't think that's necessarily true. Remembering that it's been ten years:
1) When my parents divorced, the issues they'd had were too recent and strong and had very strong emotions attached to them for them to rationally deal with them and work them out.
2) Neither of my parents were mature enough back then to deal with those issues.
3) They didn't respect each other.
4) They didn't realize the importance of communication, nor did they know how to use it.
5) They weren't Christians, and therefore didn't have the value system that is very fundamental. (That the other is a creature of value, that certain behaviors are wrong, etc.)
6) Even after ten years, they're still raw to each other. It doesn't take much to send either of them into a screaming match. The only way they can coexist on the same planet together is by not talking to each other directly.

And I'm impressed by the way both of them are approaching their new relationships. Before they got married, they lived together. Neither thought that it was a big deal. But now, Dad's describing how he and his girlfriend are approaching this as Christians. They do Bible studies together, and they're just letting this develop the way it's meant to. If it seems like they reach a point where it feels wrong to continue this relationship's progress, they'll stop. And my mom tells me that she and her boyfriend are waiting to have sex. They went on a vacation together, and they didn't sleep together. She says when your older and your libido is low, it's possible to do that, and I believe her. I am very proud of both of my parents, and I hope that both of their relationships work out.

Lil' Sparrow

Sunset

As I watch the sun sink beneath the horizon, a smile comes to my face as I wonder,
"are you watching this same sunset?"
My smile fades, to be replaced by a look of thoughtfulness.
Actually, you couldn't be looking at this sunset.
You're in a different time zone.
Right now, the sky is dark, but not dark enough for stars.
You wouldn't be looking at this sky.
Well, maybe a few hours ago, you were watching the sunset.
But, I would have been inside, working, and not even thinking about going outside.
This isn't romantic at all.

The Spider

A young girl trembles as she gazes down the side street. The poorly lit alley offers many hiding places, that, in the day, would intrigue her, but in the night, sends half-formed fears through her mind. She knows she shouldn’t, that it would be better to go around by streetlamp and be late than to pass this way. But she’s dared it before, and besides the thrill of the shadows, and the shriek she lets go when a small creature runs across her path, she’s come through unharmed. So, with a deep breath, extra adrenaline, and a subconscious sense of security, she takes the first step of a path that will lead her home. Each deep shadow gave her a shiver, and she scrutinized each corner and bump as she fearfully tiptoed past. Behind her, from a dark she’d passed, a form grew and slithered up to her. A scuff, a turn, a glint of light off the syringe, a half smothered scream, and the young girl tripped over and fell. She tried to crabwalk backward, to get some distance for her to stand, but her arms weren’t as strong as she’d hoped. He watched her, noted the beginnings of the sluggishness that would eventually overcome her and went back to his hole to set his used needle down. As he approached her, she tried to call out, “help,” her throat already restricting. Smiling, he knelt down, and watched her. She continued to try to crawl away, but her muscle control was deteriorating quickly. After a few minutes, he moved nearer, grasping one of her arms to keep her from moving further. She gasped as he pushed her hair away from her face and quietly shushed her. “Don’t be afraid. In a few minutes, you won’t be able to feel anything. Shh, let it take over, shh.” Eventually, all she could sluggishly move were her eyes, which stayed wide, showing the panic she was otherwise unable to express. Then gently, lovingly, he cocooned her in a warm blanket, and carried her back into his lair.

The Pen

The pen calls me, and I,
its humble servant, answer.
It commands, I obey.
It leads, I follow.
It bleeds on the page,
and it is my duty to ensure
that its life is not wasted.
When it is finished with me,
the pen begs me with its
final breath to sign my
name on the work.
I am unworthy.
I was only the instrument used.

One Song Glory (from RENT)

One Song
Glory
One Song
Before I go
Glory
One Song to leave behind
Find
One Song
One last refrain
Glory
From the pretty boy front man who wasted opportunity
One Song
He had the world at his feet
Glory
In the eyes of a young girl
A young girl
Find Glory
Beyond the cheap colored lights
One Song
Before the sun sets
Glory
One another empty life
Time flies, time dies
Glory
One blaze of Glory
One blaze of Glory
Glory
Find Glory
In a Song that rings true
Truth like a blazing fire
An eternal flame
Find one Song
A Song about Love
Glory
From the soul of a young man
A young man
Find
The one Song
Before the virus takes hold
Glory
Like a sunset
One Song
To redeem this empty life
Time flies
And then no need to endure anymore
Time dies

To the Woman I am meant to Be Part I

Are you ashamed of me?
Of who you once were?
Do you give the glory to God
when you think of how far you've come?
I know that alone, I can't do anything.
That by myself, I would stay here.
Do you feel complete?
Will I ever reach you?
Or are you a goal to be striven for,
and never achieved?

I hold a flame

I hold a flame within my fist
It burns my skin and sears my veins
I sweat and pant with the effort of holding it
But I dare not release it
For the flame would consume me

If you were a we

True love is when you become a we
You may 'love' someone
But you only gave them the most outer part of your being
The dead skin that comes away eventually
You may mourn the occurrance
But you haven't really lost anything
You were still you
True pain is when you were a we
You were a couple
Both combining all levels of your flesh to share one being
Your heart pumping one desire
Your soul living for one purpose: the other
Then your loss is ultimate
If you were a we.

Beauty

Her eyes hold a secret
Willing to tell
If only you could answer
the riddle
of her hue changing eyes.

Her smile holds a single kiss
Not for you
But you would give your life
to receive
that which isn't yours.

Her voice holds a melody
In every word
If only she would speak
your name
you could die happy.

PMS

If God had meant Christians to be bubbly, women would lose their period when they accepted Christ.

Testimony

Show us your scars
Tell us of wounds and pain
We have our own
Or we will some day
Show us your strength
Tell us of healing
Let us know we're not alone
Give us a memory to use
Please don't show your anger
Your tale is not finished
You still have your pain
It is not healing
Don't show us your ugly cut
And tell us how you keep it open
Unless you are willing for us
To open it deeper, and clean it
The tears you show don't have medicine
They are hot and speak of infection
Tell us a story to help us
Or ask us to help you
Otherwise, keep your seat
And nurse your wound.

Junior Camp Counselor Psalms

Lord, give me patience when mine enemies are hurling mud at me with their slingshots.
Lord, let me not react when mine enemies use not my name but some vulgar term instead.
Lord, let me be kind to those who listen not and heed not mine instructions.
Lord, let me be the calm center though all around me is chaos and screaming.
Let mine words hold weight and be carefully chosen to the situation.
Lord, be a gag unto mine enemies' mouths.
Lord, put hobbles round mine enemies ankles when I am desirous of them to stay put.
Lord, let their attention be unto me when I give instructions as a 16 year old cheerleader is to a pretty boy quarterback.
Lord, let them find endless entertainment in the creek and surrounding woods.
Give them not allergic reactions to bites or weeds, for their cries would rise against me and give me no rest.
Let them not find sources of sugar, nor of caffeine, for their energies would have no bounds.
Lord, give me games that shall tire out mine enemies and send them into quick slumber.

I'd move to Wisconsin if it weren't for the bugs

Yes, I am in Wisconsin. I'm helping a church with three weeks of summer camp, and then a with a week of Vacation Bible School. Today is our day off for the first week, and my team and I are at our Project Director's house playing Dance Dance Revolution. Massive sweat break. I had to stop, cause my calves were killing me.

The three days before Senior camp started were exciting. Laundry, Culver's (a Wisconsin restaurant that is just awesome. West Coast needs to build some. They have cheese curds, and custard, and beautiful hamburgers. My team is going to beg our PD to take us tonight.) A Minor league game... oh, and some of us went kayaking in a little lake. The house I'm staying at when I'm not at camp has four boys, but one is helping a camp somewhere else and another was in a traveling singing group until the start of Senior camp and now he's a camper. The other two boys were absolutely adorable. They picked out all these bath stuffs for a welcome home present, and each had a different scent. So cute. And then yesterday was my birthday, so they came to camp with a risque card (they had no idea) and a fishing magazine (their favorite activity) candy, and sponge bob balloons. I love them both.

Our team's name is Elite, and our team verse is Ephesians 6:13-14a. The idea is that we are in a war, and our team's goal for the summer (and after) is to be an elite fighting force for the Lord. We're going to try and get jerseys with our name and verse printed on them. Our mascot is our PD's dog.

Today is a parade and shopping, then fireworks and back to camp. Write more later, working on some poems for ya guys. (I mean liquiddjinn, really)

Cleansing Fire

My lover's eyes

My lover’s eyes aren’t deep as the ocean,
They’re dull and shallow like a mud puddle.
Extremely thin and bony is his shin
His arms, chest, and legs have little muscle.

His lips are the taste of sour coffee
And his hair falls like the grass of the field.
A god’s face is bare, but his grow poppies.
In the sun, not tan skin, but red that peels.

I may laugh at him when he struts his stuff,
But his love for me is sexy enough.

Update

So, sorry it's been so long. Not like everyone's been desperate for my blog to be updated. Before I root around for something interesting to post, personal time.
Maxime lately had some transmission trouble. The kind that strands me at Subway and makes her need to be towed. But it turned out okay. Mechanic found that Les Schwab did a sucky job on my Ujoints, and made them fix it. That was exciting. Seriously. And he found two other things wrong with my car, and the grand total was less than a thousand. I'm happy about this amount because a) it was less than my nightmares of the cost of the transmission alone, b) I didn't have to personally cough up the money, and c) my dad, the one doing the coughing, was okay with the amount.

I have a crush. It's the lame kind, where I'm excited to look in the window where he works and see that he's there late. Just knowing where he is makes my day look good. Go in there and talk to him? What? Why? And ruin my chances, when walking past his window is just starting to work out for me? I know. Like I said, it's lame. A trusted adult recently advised me to start hanging out with boys casually, without liking them first, trying to get them to like me, or having to flirt. Just hang out with them. Be friends. This is harder than it seems, since I'd like to hang out with the boys I like, and try not to hang out with the ones I don't. My subconscious agenda to get a boyfriend is impairing my social skills. *sigh*

Let's see, I've mentioned my car and boys. Anything else? Not really. Is it too late for Spring Break stories about Utah? I could still do those, even though they're a month old. Now to root around and look for something fun for ya.

21st Century Psalms

The Lord is a fully stocked bomb shelter though mine enemies hurl their nukes at me.
The Lord is my semi truck, providing for my needs in bulk.
The Lord is my tire chain, giving me traction on the slippery road.
The Lord is my rest stop on a cross country journey, giving me relief.
The Lord is my air conditioning, keeping me cold while the outside temperature is over 100 degrees.
The Lord is my bowl of chicken noodle soup after a day of playing in the snow.
The Lord is my Air Force One, keeping me in the air while mine enemies bomb my home.

I don't like Idaho

Sorry for no heads up. I'm finishing spring break and went on a missions trip to Utah. Yeah, okay, hope no one gets offended by that. Seriously, it's totally double sided, they talk about their faith, and then I talk about mine. Last year was much more stressful, though I didn't talk with as many people. Quick overview.
Saturday: left Oregon at like 7 am, drove too slowly and took to many stops, so we were still in Idaho when darkness fell. Blizzard hit, and the snow was sticking to the signs, so we couldn't see the mph, which mile we were on, what road we were on. God guided us so that we stayed on the right highway, and safely exited to a place to spend the night (a weigh station). It was freezing, and my neighbor in the van switched spots with a guy I didn't know, so I couldn't cuddle for warmth. We waited until daylight. So cold. And our clothes were damp, from leaving the vans to go to the bathroom, with the snow flying.
Monday-Today: Visited Temple Square, some Institute classes, went to a youth group in the mountains, went to a Praise and Worship.
Now, back in Idaho, this time spending the night in a hotel.

Night, everyone!
Jackie Bird

Me in Southpark

Birth of a Story

After a late night of labor, with tears and groans, my child was born.
I cried with relief, and slept content cradling my baby.
In the morning, as Dawn's light pulled aside the curtains,
I hold aloft my child to the rays and recoil in horror.
My offspring, so loved the night before, is now a source of shame.
Its limbs were deformed, its features missing or misshapen.
It gurgled monstrously, and reached for me.
Reluctantly, I pull it to my breast and cradle it. It is mine.
Excited knocking sends a panic through me.
Hastily, I lay my offspring in the cradle and cover it with a blanket.
Answering the door, I am greeted by well meaning friends.
Denying its existence, I retreat to where it's hid.
Weeks later, I decide to subject it to the public.
I pitied it, I cried over its body
Before I carried it outside and handed it over to them.
They huddled around it, brandishing their sharp knives.
I heard its screams,
And fought myself to keep from breaking them apart and ripping it from them.
Finally, they place its writhing, bloody body in my trembling, wet arms.
I race back into my home, weeping, apologizing to it,
And desperately attempting to bandage its wounds.
Dawn roused us from a painful and sore night,
And I lift my baby out of its cradle.
In the fresh light, she smiled at me.

Extra points to the person who can name the author of the poem this is semi-based on.

Ha Ha, uhm, Nevermind...

I can laugh now because it didn't happen. Not that I didn't THINK it really happened, but now that it's turned out okay, I can laugh. So, misunderstanding, and for all you people who have your car serviced, be sure to leave a phone number that works consistently. There was miscommunication regarding the car, and I feel like a complete idiot. But I couldn't have known, so either, wait 48 hours to report it stolen, and be sure it wasn't, or report it right away and feel like an idiot? I think I was justified in my course of actions, but I still feel like a retard. I totally slept for sixteen hours the next day and went to bed normally afterward. I think I was mourning. Most depressed day of my life. Okay, maybe not Most, but top ten. I went to dinner, and looked at all the people who still had their cars where they left them. I also recognized that I could have dealt with much meaner police officers at each stage of this drama, but I didn't. And I am thankful to God that it worked out like it did.

Maxime's Gone!

She's been stolen! I feel violated. I also feel like a bad mother, like I should have done something that I didn't to prevent it. I cried a lot. Yeah, its an inconvenience to not have a car, but I want Maxime back. I don't just want a car. I've been offered the use of my sibling's car, but I hope Maxime is found before it comes to that. The other car maybe more gas efficient and nicer looking, but I think I took better care of my Fat Lady then they do of their Anorexic Girl. Ah! I'm already using past tense! I did that last night with the police officer. "What was the car's license plate?" Regardless of whether I possess my car anymore, she probably still has her license plates. "What IS her license plate?" Though he wouldn't have thought to use the pronoun. I don't care if they take out the stereo, the speakers, the seat covers, or anything else in my car. I just want the frame and the engine back. Though any tires, seats or windows that were intact would be appreciated. My baby's gone!

Deuteronomy

I feel that there is God’s law, and man’s law. We are subject to both. God doesn’t want us to kill each other. I think that includes war, self defense, and abortion.

If we follow this to the letter, if we are attacked by someone intending to take our life, we shouldn’t retaliate. Passive to the point of being wiped out. Now, how many people do you know will do that? Will stand there passively while the thief breaks into their house and kills their family? No one, right? They will retaliate in some way, even maybe kill the person.

Was this right?

By which law? By God’s law, no. This was murder. You sinned protecting your family.

Will it keep you from heaven? No.

Will it get you sent to prison? Maybe, depending on how good your lawyer is.

Will you have to live with the consequences of your actions for the rest of your life? Yes.

When you die, will you be judged by man’s law, or God’s law? Luckily, when facing God’s law, we have Jesus as our lawyer. And we know the outcome before we even walk into the courtroom.

If you have an abortion, you have killed someone. Was that a sin? Yes.

Will you go to prison? No.

Will you have to live with the consequences? Yes. You will carry that weight the rest of your life.

Will that murder keep you from God’s love? No.

Will you carry that weight in heaven? No.

If you divorce your husband, was that a sin? Yes.

If you remarry, what does that mean? According to God, you are now an adulteress.

Will you go to prison? No.

Will you and your children have to live with the consequences? Yes. So I hope that the situation you left was worth the consequences during their lives.

Will any of this matter in the end? No.

Valentine's Day!

Ha ha. I like Valentine's Day. I've yet to have a boyfriend on one, and get balloons or flowers from someone not my mom, but I still enjoy the cheesy spiderman or looneytoons valentines from my friends. I forgot to buy ones for my friends, but I'm going to be all over it next year. Right now all my valentines are pinned on the wall next to my door. (I have two more than my roomie, since the one from her boyfriend counts as two.) I even got a personalized one from a friend and it sent me giggling hysterically for a good ten minutes. There I go again. Valentine's Day isn't just for couples to get mushy and try to out-gift the other one, it's just a general "I care about you, in case you forgot" day. It's for family and friends, and complete strangers too.

So I want to say, "I love you" to all of you reading this. Cause whether you're reading this because I know you and told you about it, or you found me, or you stumbled on this blog while searching for a Zelda walkthrough, I love you and you matter to me. Seriously.

Mediagames

Heehee, I wonder if anyone else has coined that term? I didn't want to write "video and computer games". Here are the two games up for discussion: Minesweeper and Zelda: Ocarina of Time.

Minesweeper: I am beginning to suspect that this game is a complete waste of time. Only after I beat Expert twice. Not in a row, I've only done it three times to date.

Zelda: is not the name of the main character. I keep forgetting that. Friday I played an hour of it for the first time since I grounded myself from it. I'm going painfully slow at it, which is fine for me, I don't have the nerves for the fighting, and I hate the Nintendo controller. I also blame the controller for my battle failure. I'd rather use the arrow buttons to maneuver, but that's not even an option. On a PS it's an option, but not this. So, when I'm in Karkarino or whatever, how do I open the crate that has the chicken in it? I've shot at it, kicked it, slashed at it, carried over a rock from up the hill to throw at it... I need that chicken. And what about the one behind the wall that's only accessible from a ladder leading from above the windmill, which has one door to go inside, but not one to go up and out? I need those chickens! I have a task that doesn't involve panic and slippery controllers and getting killed, I need to complete it! The walkthroughs I've looked at don't even consider the chickens worth explaining, as they probably aren't necessary to kill the big boss man at the end. And when do I get to ride the horse and go back in time and turn into a fish? I've watched friends play, but I've never had it myself until recently.

I would appreciate replies to this...

Why do boys think that they failed when they don’t get a girl to like them?

Judas

As you were born to die,
I was born to betray.
I love you, my Rabbi.
I listened to your teachings,
I left my family
And my home
To follow you.
To live for you.
To travel to unclean lands
And live uncertainly
With you.
I planned to talk to the priests,
I don't know why.
I couldn't stop thinking about it
That last night.
We dipped our bread together,
You seemed to know my thoughts,
And sent me away.
I met you at the garden,
And saw your resignation.
Puzzled, I kissed your face in the darkness,
Greeting you, my Rabbi.
Your voice chilled me,
I did condemn you
As your friend.
I lived,
To betray the Son of Man with a kiss,
To die,
Damned,
So that Creation could know salvation,
And so that He could rise and show His power.

Nothing much today...

Sorry, I wanted to use this blog to post poems and such, but I haven't written any lately, so thus the mindless drivel. I've been busy figuring out the theology of Star Wars (dualistic) and reincorporating myself with classes. I'll keep my mind out for any poem or prose opportunities, and post the result as soon as I can. Promise.

Read lately: in the dead center of "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince" duh! the Half Blood Prince is Voldemort! How many Half Blooded powerful wizards are there? Hm? Duh! That would have been my first guess, actually, it was my first guess, and Harry's bothering around with wondering about his full blooded father or Muggle born mother. And why doesn't any one ever believe Harry in these books? He's always fighting popular belief. Does he always have to be the victim? Can't he bully some people around? Or maybe have everyone believe him in the first go, but then he's wrong! That would be interesting.

Listening to: Bond. The string quartet. Ex roommate showed them to me, and I was able to watch a concert of theirs on DVD over break. Now my exroomie gave me some of their music. Bwah!

Watched: Most recently... I think it was "Always" with Richard Dreyfus, Holly Hunt, and John Goodman. Ha! also "Gremlins" for the first time ever this weekend. Giz is sooo cute! I want a Mogwai! And I wouldn't get it wet, either. I didn't expect people to die in the movie. Wow. And the dad getting stuck in the chimney? That was gross.

Anyway, I'll work on something to post for ya guys.

Jackie Bird

This computer sucks

I had a totally cool post that I've tried to post like four times, and it didn't work. >P If this one doesn't work, I'm not going to try until I end my vacation. Basically, having a great vacation so far with family, friends, and nice boys who are cute who can't remember my name. Anyway, talk to y'all later

Jackie Bird

Vomit

Okay, yeah, I know that's a gross word. But that's my rant/nonsense word. Writing a paper, need to throw ideas down, it's a paper vomit. Freaked my roommate out when I told her I just finished vomiting and was ready to write my paper. So get ready for my holiday vomit.

Awesomeous vacation ever! So far, I have:
Visited my dad
Slept on couch for a week
Watched movies nearly every waking hour for a week
Had Turkey Dinner!!!!
Had special chicken dinner twice!!!
Visited friend for almost a week
Played in snow!!! (made snow dragons hehe)
Put my car in four wheel drive!!!
Watched Narnia again
Went to a party where I didn't know most of the people and tried to socialize and had a good time (that's a first)
Found a cute guy, trying not to obsess over him, wish he could remember my name.
Reached level 17 on Fire Emblem
Got a Zelda! Woohoo! Nintendo 64 is good one thing, and one thing only!
Got the complete works of Shakespeare! Read twelfth night.
Read friend's story. Sweetness.
Learned how to play guitar. Kinda.
Forgot what I learned on the guitar.
Watched Bond concert DVD.
Went Christmas shopping with my dad, helped him buy me presents, went home and wrapped them for me.
Got sick and tired of date commercials. If you have to call a service to meet single locals, there must be something wrong with you.
Hm. I think that's all. I'll let y'all know if I think of something else.

Jackie Bird