We Never Change, Do We

It's a thrilling thing to look back on the year passing as another one is coming, full throttle. But, for me, it's a bigger event to look back on your life as a whole and to see where it could be heading. I think 2007 has been my best year to date, but I think 2008 has the possibility to surpass the rest.

I'm happier, smarter, more mature, and more willing to accept the consequences for my actions.
Ready to be an adult.

But excited to look back at the fun of yesteryear.

Everything That I'm Thinking

I wish I could be petulant. I wish there was room enough in my life to go on tiny rampages and let everyone else deal with the consequences. If that were the case, I'd have a lot more open enemies, but maybe I'd lose a little perspective, too. And sometimes I wish for that loss of perspective, that void of knowing that the high school politics are just stupid games.

But, there's no room for that. I have to make big girl decisions and take care of my adult life. I get to realize that there is more to me than what I have now. And, I depend on me for my happiness.

I'm going to make the best of my situation. And I'm going to feel bad for anyone else who has decided not to do so.

Love is a Mix Tape

My dad tells this story about my mom sometimes.

She was young, first married and first-time pregnant. My dad decided to be a dream and make his wife dinner; when things like that happen, it's usually a pretty fancy ordeal. So, my dad chose to make leg of lamb, among other things. And when the time came, my hormone-filled mom mourned the poor three-legged lamb in the meadow.

Suffice it to say she didn't eat it. Or at least, as far as I remember.

And because I can't sleep tonight, I keep thinking about this.

*****

My mom also used to tell us that certain things were "journal entries" in our lives. If something awesome happened or something once-in-a-lifetime happened, it was a journal entry. Or, at least a potential one. And as I'm re-reading my journals, I realize that I didn't take her up on that offer. Most of my super-important milestones have gone unrecorded. Sometimes that irks me, that I'll never quite remember what I was thinking on my wedding day or that fateful breakup the summer after my senior year.

The things that I did record, however, are still pretty cool. I know exactly what I was thinking during my first boy/girl dance in the 8th grade, I have each word recorded from my first request for a kiss. My first recurring nightmare is laid out in detail. And though I thought that I remembered all of these things, I realize that I don't have all the little details chalked in. The journal entries help fill in the flash.

So, Mom, I'll try to be better with the small things and even better with the big things.

There are many boys in my little journals, in hints; it's already pretty well-known. It's also something I've been thinking about. Mostly because Megan bought me the book Love Is a Mix Tape and I, of course, devoured it not even 24 hours after getting it. It's not a chick book, really, and it's not long. But, the whole point of it is that this guy remembers his wife who (spoiler alert!) has already died of a pulmonary embolism after 5 years of marriage through all the mix tapes they made for the 10 years they were together.

It has made me wonder if I could pour out a whole novel about my intense and lengthy affair with boys through words.

I mean, I wrote probably 5 pages of notes a day in middle school, right? And I kept all of my notes received in shoe boxes. Like, boxes under my bed. And of course, there's the introduction of AIM into my life. And email. And message boards. And blogs.

I could bang out 50,000 words easily about that. And probably make it halfway interesting. But, I want it to be a confessional. The point is that I want every past boy to be laid out, at his best, of course. I want it to be some final hurrah for those guys who need to be put to rest. And for those who are still alive for me, I need it to be this dedication of solidarity.

And I'm talking like this is going to happen.

******

And I'm going to try to sleep. It's just Christmas Eve Eve and I am already waiting for Santa.

We're Not Gonna Pay

My heart is just bursting. And there is no reason for it.

We saw a crappy movie tonight. It's so stinking cold here. My Christmas shopping isn't done yet and I am considering just giving cash money instead of gifts.

I'm just feeling inspired because I have to. I lead a small town life and I usually have small town ambitions, being a wife and mother to people I care about.

But lately, I'm obsessed with three things: babies, not living an internet life, and being in a rock band.

My new ethnicity is currently Rock Star.That's all I can relate to right now. I feel like there should be some Rock Star club on campus that I can join and bond with my fellow Rock Star brethren. I want to get fake tattoos and just put them everywhere. My gut is telling me that I have this huge potential to blow the brains out of multiple sources if only I just put all of my restlessness into one huge EP. But I have no one proficient enough in rock and roll to guide my along my way.

And I'm sick of leading my internet life. There were times when the internet was all I had to keep myself sane, but I look back on those times and realize that there was a fine line between sane and complete BS. When I recently deleted my yahoo account, I was going through old emails for useful content and I got so mad at myself for years wasted, hearts broken. I knew better than all that. I was so hungry for attention and so craving of validation that I just left my heart trail strewn across countless virtual wastelands. I have set myself up for meeting these great people and then having them completely inaccessible in the real world. I've said it before and I'll say it again, all I want is to have all the people I love close enough to hold. And my stupid internet life puts me in touch with people I'll never really touch. I hate myself for that.

The babies? What's new with that, other than I'm taking my prenatal vitamins every day. The weeks are crawling by and the closer it gets, the less I feel up for it. My life is colliding into one massive a-bomb come January, so I want to turn around and back up into it, blindfolded. And part of that is to just skate into having a baby. All the other parts are going to be so hard, so I hope that karma and fate decide to make the baby part easy, initially.

*****

These things, these thoughts that flood my mind every second of the day, may sound daunting, dastardly, decidedly off-putting. But they are gunning me toward pushing the envelope and being That Girl. I've just got to get there. I've just got to.

Here's A Late-Night Letter

This is all meta. Don't read this if that bores you.

****


One thing I've always struggled with was the here and now. The days gone by are best and the future kid holds so much more than I'd ever want or need. But the now? Eh, just give me tomorrow.

So, I'm never surprised when I feel anxious. The heart beating out of my chest for no real reason is something that has always frequented my life. It's never shocking when I want to get in a car and drive or take all that well-saved cash and blow it on bubble gum. And it's actually no surprise when I do those things.

I just am not in love with this moment. Or this moment. Or this one.

So, there are dreams I like to dream; they usually include blowing this popsicle stand and doing the unexpected. The solace I find in this is that I know that even if I did that, I'd continue dreaming about it. If I found myself on the other side of the world, meditating and serene, I would assuredly be wistful about days of deadlines and dishes.

My life is happy. My life is blessed. But I don't know how to deal with my restlessness now that my life is tied to another person's. There have always been consequences to my actions and there was never a carte blanche. Now, those consequences are bigger and my limitations are squeezed. All blissfully, but still there.

I just want what I want and I feel like I should get what I need. But I don't know what's best for me. A better question is who does? In my heart of hearts, there are a couple things I'm dying for.

And here I thought that this was a 48-hour bug. Eating me up inside now, I suppose. Just be normal, Holly. Get back to yesterday's normal.

Last Night, You Told Me Secrets You've Never Told A Soul

Yesterday was a day of being freezing, but ultimately of becoming a person that I want to be.

Free to Do What I Want

I could totally be wrong, but I believe that my cousin Cari has tagged me to tell six interesting things about myself. And if I actually am wrong, I'll just be my interesting little self anyway.

1. Individually, I like people who amaze the pants off me and make me feel inferior in essentially every way, shape and form. Gives me some belief in the human race and doesn't leave me the entirety of leading the people to freedom; it's always nice to be able to pass the buck, throw it up, etc. My admirations lean to the methodical, the disregarding, those who work hard for the money and pull it off with ease. If you can bend your thumb back to touch your arm, I'm doubly impressed. When you get some of these ultras together, however, they instantly become a) the magic to end all magic or b) kids of the conundrous doldrums. How I am apt to hate large groups of splendid people. Then it's the realization that perhaps I'm inferior for a reason. In the social setting, they become a sound rather than a wall of it. Clique. Their outrageousness should stun us all to the walls, praying that we might get to touch them when we wait outside after the concert. More likely than not they're circling it up, telling jokes about catharsis and whispering about all the marvelous things they could be doing. These were the kids I knew/hated in high school. But person to person, they were a dream.

2. My first boyfriend once told me that I was the most attractive after a good crying fit. Thinking about my blotchy eyes and black tiger-striped face, I was baffled at his comment. Wiping a stray hair out of my face, he carmel-covered it by saying that it made me more child-like and humble; he said it was the only time that he ever felt like he could baby me the way he wanted to, because any other time I demanded control. That, and my eyes turn the most amazing blue. Every boyfriend after this has agreed with this statement.

3. Because I'm rather fancy, I love to express myself. I am struck by the amount of wonder that I can exude when I'm feeling wide-open-spaces inside. I've always felt wonder at things that impress me; not the puzzled wonder of a question unanswered, but an awe that makes me spread out on the grass and gaze at the sun until I'm blind.

4. I wish that I had a sign to switch on and off that indicated how I wish to be treated that day; like, some days I want to be held like a doll and waited upon and treated as though I were a tad of a plaything. Obviously, on other days I would find this degrading and disgusting, but for those certain days, it just seems to fit. I often have to battle it out between hardcore and arrogant. And arrogance usually wins.

5. Now, with all this relatively heavy material, you probably consider me to be an incredibly dark person. But I'm not; I'm really not. I don't think I could be friends with anyone fun unless I was willing to roll around in the snow or scream at the top of my lungs. I'm more fun than cotton candy and bouncy balls- combined. I'm a prankster, a heckler and a doofus. I sleep with stuffed animals and I have an Ariel the Little Mermaid alarm clock. If that's not the quintessential mark of fun, I don't know what is. I've been known to sing the wrong words to songs on purpose, play with sidewalk chalk and have candy fights. I dance in front of the mirror when I'm alone. I watch Bill Cosby and laugh my brains out. The most purely entertaining movie I've ever seen is a movie called Surf Ninjas. When I want to get out of a funk, I throw in my Spice Girls CD and shout the lyrics to "Wannabe." I look like I'm a pre-pubescent boy when I flip my pen around my thumb. And yes, I do think the word "poop" is funny. I am ridiculous, and that's important to know.

6. And Baby Holly used to live here.


Now, Shelley, Mom and Caleb are tagged. Do this or die!

A Preview of The Snow Shoot

For a class of Caleb's, we had to have a photo shoot. It just so happened that we got our first real snow on the day it was planned. Here are a few that we took that day.