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)