I am extemely bored
I am extremely tired
I am extremely depressed.

I am extremely scared of Chinese people
I am extremely scared of Clowns

I hate my teenage daughter
I hate my life
I hate college
I hate my job

I love you
I love teriyaki
I love you Philip Morris

Americans: bored, tired, depressed,
terrified of clowns and Chinese people,
hateful of life, college, job,
Lovers of you, teriyaki, and Philip Morris

I placed an iPhone in San Francisco
And shiny it was, upon a street
It made the slovenly city
Surround that street

The city rose up to it
And sprawled around, no longer crazy
The iPhone was shiny upon the ground
And tall of a port in air

It took dominion every where
The iPhone was black and bare
It did not give of sound or scratch
Like nothing else in San Francisco

She says we all have a green thumb
But she knows hers is blue
With an Aquarius soul and a mermaid heart
She twirls the music box searching for a sound
A meaning that tells her all her heart wishes to know
Makes fairy music in her ears
A melody she loves to hear
The rhythm, the sound, the contentment of music

Oh the holiness she tries to feel
The beauty of love and innocence
Fear of the unknown is the fear of all
We tried to escape but we could not
And oh what wonder the stars say
Bringing up stories like legends from far
Love shines mighty like jewels in the heavens

Are we really feeling this?
Then sing sing sing to the night
Why must she run away?
The collages of time
Will help her remember
Where in the spirit she belongs

And she can't explain how suddenly perfect it is
To hear the wind whispering thoughts of life
The wonders and the unknowns are the things
That keep her spirits high and the emotions at bay
She says light is the way to the unknown

Where are our knights in shining armor?
Or the flying horses we knew in fairy stories?
The answer is in the music, she says
Where magic is like a song and love
And love lifts us up when we thought
We couldn't be higher than heaven

Golden years are precious
Advice is taken serious and wise
Listen my children to my loves and losts
Of a sirens cherished life, of a tale and love
Oh pretty fickle life could hers be so simple?
Her life is so di.vine. and must go on.

Another breakfast at Denny's with Grandpa. Mother, Daughter and Grandpa. The waitress did everything right. Let them sit at the table Grandpa wanted. She was very precise and prompt. Didn't take too long with the drink order. Made sure the drinks never hit empty. Brought the food out while it was still hot. She checked back more than once, making sure everything was okay. Grandpa left $1.00, insisting it was a generous tip. Mother argued 15 percent, insisting $3.00. Grandpa replied, "I don't care." Daughter text her sister about the ordeal.

Class was over. Thanksgiving break officially had begun. As she walked down the carpeted steps into the lobby she thought about the next four days that would be blissfully uninterrupted from school. It was all about family now, and she was looking forward to it. After all, once mid-terms hit, she was practically non-existent to her outside-of-school friends and family till finals. Having this four-day break was exactly what she needed. She needed to clear her head of other people too.

She mumbled, “Goodnight” in return to the security guard as she exited the building and headed towards her car. Scanning the parking lot, her eyes fell not on her car, but on the tall familiar figure leaning against it.

“You’re not seriously here, are you?” She was pretty good at masking her excitement to see him with sarcasm and playfullness.

He shrugged, smiling with that cheesy grin that made her weak at the knees. “I haven’t seen you in awhile, so I figured if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain…” He moved toward her and wrapped his arms around her in one of those giant bear hugs he always gave.

“I’m surprised you stuck around. I figured you would be long gone home already,” her voice muffled between his chest. The long hug began to make her feel slightly uncomfortable, so she pulled away, straightening herself up and pulling out her keys from her pocket.

“Well, consindering someone hasn’t visited me in quite some time...”

“I’m sorry. You know I’m busy.” She fumbled with her keys nervously. She hated confrontation.

“So how have you been?”

“Oh you know. Just busy with school and work. Nothing exciting to report on. You know how it is.”

“Yeah...” He trailed off as though he was waiting for her finish the rest of the story.

“What?”

“I dunno, you tell me. I feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Really?”

“Mm hm.” He nodded very matter-of-factly, like a parent waiting for their child to tell the real truth.

“Dude, you are so not allowed to go there.”

“Um, why not?”

“How about the fact that ever since your break-up you’ve pretty much blown me off. Let’s not forget that one time you showed up at my work and didn’t even bother to say hi or let me know you were there even though I know you saw me. If anything you’re the one that’s been avoiding me. Don’t worry though, I can take a hint.”

She could tell she struck a nerve. It definitely wasn’t the answer he was expecting.
“I-I don’t know what to say…”

“Whatever, it’s fine. I’m just saying that you can’t get all butt-hurt because I haven’t been around, when A, you know I’m busy, and B, you’ve been blowing me off because you’re obsessed with some girl who left you to start her life over somewhere else.”

He took a long pause, trying to form the words of explanation, but he realized she was right. He didn’t mean to make her feel this way, yet here he was confronting her, when if anything, she should have been confronting him. “I’m sorry…”

“Please, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” She couldn’t stand the awkwardness anymore. She was perfectly intent with keeping all these bottled up feelings to herself but no, he had to come forcing them out. She didn’t mean for it to be like this. Now, more than ever she just wanted to escape.

“Look, it’s cold out, and I really need to get home.”

“Okay.”

This time he didn’t hug her goodbye as she slid into the car. He just stood there. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she watched him eventually get into his car; he didn’t drive after her and race her like he normally would when they’d leave at the same time. Things were different now.

Every teardrop is a waterfall when I see your face
I feel Lost! without your music
I didn't mean to cause you trouble,
but I'm your biggest fan

The hardest part is waiting till kingdom come
to see your performance on that stage
The speed of sound that travels to my ears
is lighting and gives me goosebumps

When your music starts to play
it feels like paradise. Para, para, paradise.
We live in a beautiful world, yeah we do yeah we do.
Yes.

"Why don't we grab sushi tomorrow night before class?"

"Alright," you said. I could tell you figured it was just another friendly invite. It's so cute how you think that's what it is. I suppose it's hard to see when a guy is legitimately interested in you when you've been burned so many times in the past.

I'm determine to show you I'm not like other guys. I really do like you, and like any decent gentleman, I will wine and dine you until you fall for me.

I didn't hear the doorbell. My doorbell has a mind of its own. Sometimes it will ring, sometimes it will silently buzz, and depending upon where I am in the house I may or may not hear it. You happened to show up on a day the doorbell decided to buzz, and I was in the back of the house with my music on. I still can't believe you took that risk, coming here. And I still can't believe that a simple misunderstanding could cause so much pain.

You thought I was avoiding you, by not answering the door. I honestly didn't know anyone was there. Plus, I wasn't expecting anyone. I tried to explain this to you when you confronted me about my behavior, but I don't think you believed me. You thought it was just another lie. I swear it wasn't.

Of course, you could have banged on the door. Then I would have heard you. No, instead you rang my silent doorbell 3 times, and when I didn't answer, you hurried off. It was like one of those scenes in a movie. You impulsively decided to show up at my house, like some grand gesture, hoping that despite how wrong everything was between us that you being there at my door would make everything okay.

But my stupid doorbell ruined your plans. You turned your embarrassment into anger over something neither one of us had any control over. You didn't know and neither did I.

Who knew something so simple as a doorbell could cause so many problems.

One heart beating loudly
Two eyes looking softly
Three little words not spoken
Four times the lust hit hard
Five fingers intertwined
Six strings strum hello

Over six hours made up the day we met
It took one simple statement before we became friends
Five days a week we would see each other
The two of us had a bit in common
Four people witnessed the beginning
Three reasons why we could never work

Three made up the triangle of people
Almost six days a week of talking
Four times I tried to leave
One night of a long talk
Two nights of movie-watching
Five lies you told that I believed

Five others were possibilities
That three-day weekend everything changed
The two of you had an unshakeable bond
Six weeks of confusion
One day you ignored me
Four days between us speaking

Four months of emotional turmoil
Five days a week of hurt
I was the one left forgotten
Three's a crowd, no room for me
Six days and more between us speaking
The two of you became one

My two eyes watch as you leave my life
Four times the agony and pain
Six strings sadly strum goodbye
Five fingers are all alone
Three little words will never be spoken
One heart beats lonely

Do not give me things unspoken
Do not leave me left not knowing

Why do you push me away,
without a second thought?
Why do you pretend my
is one you do not know?

I'm sorry I cannot be
the way you want me to be
I'm sorry that things
are the way they are

Can we find a middle ground?
Or is it an ultimatum.
All or nothing.

I guess we'll never know.

Falling falling
Into darkness
Where the shadows lie beneath
The soul strives to be alive

Seeing or thinking
Is a thing of the past
The dark which is wanted
To make the pain go fast
Hurrying down an endless tunnel
With nothing left but pain
Turning back and running
Will never make things the same

A map of the stars
A guidance of hope
A chart of answers

Why must I dream only to be awoken?
Is it my pure heart that gives me my unknown desires?
My solemn walks and my quick thinking make me remember.
It is a dream so real yet so unfamiliar. Alive. So alive.

In the dismal mist a figure peaks through
A face, a hand, a touch, a scent
All familiar and yet so distant
Is he there? Am I sure?

Back again, through the same scene,
replaying in my head like a film.
Why must I live this torture?
I want what I cannot have.
I see what I yearn to have,
and I yearn for what I see.
The pain of knowing it's there
and knowing it can never be mine.

I can never call him my own
He does not want to be mine.
He wants another,
that which is not me.
It hurts, like a knife
through the heart,
through my life.

Must all suffering be like this?
Is all love pain?
Love is pain,
I come to find.
I must wait.
Courage must become
Within my very soul to survive.

She wanders outside
in the moon
hoping her heart
loves not too soon
she sees the eyes
that captured her soul
why must our yearns
be hung too low

she is breathing
in like the earth
and the sun shine
push the soul away
to a night
that renders its pain
and its love light
swim through the moments
she can never forget them again

Is it real?
Does she know just how to feel?
Does love surrender its might to the weak?
Would she ever be able to say no?
Chosen feelings she does that
Incense of sea salt
Make a memory last
Then does it always come back to love
As a night where the moon shades
On quiet bank of a tide pool

Black, black, black
Black door, Black chairs, black desks
Like the Raven, nevermore.

White, white, white
White paper, white screen, white board
Like space in design

Gray, only one gray wall
A face wrapped in blue shattered glass
Black eyes and a black smile

Wink.

Glances at the class.
No one notices.

Wink.

Stop it. Wake up.

I read the poem "Nobody Dies in the Spring" by Philip Appleman and it immediately made think of 859 Carver Terrace, the Washington D.C. missions trip my church does every year.

Although the poem describes the slums of New York in the Spring, it reminds me of those slums in the neighborhood where 859 is. I haven't been on this missions trip yet (someday I'd like to go), but there's always stories and photos shared at church after they come home.

This poem described the environment so well, how beautiful everything is in the Spring, despite being in a not-so-beautiful neighborhood.

I often daydream about if I could go back in time how I would change things. How far back would I go? What would I do? Would it make a difference where I was today? Would I be a better person?

I think about going back to my freshmen year of high school. I was an overweight choir freak and band geek with braces. I had escaped the turmoil of middle school and was starting over, fresh in high school. I immediately dove into my love of performing arts.

I wouldn't have wasted my time with choir or concert band. Those programs had reached their peak and were on their way down went I came along. I would have stuck to doing marching band only. I wouldn't have let what my band teacher from middle school said get to me. I would have done marching band in the fall and drama in the spring. I would have auditioned for Guys & Dolls that year. I would have gotten Computer Tech 1/2 out of the way. I would have asked to be placed in Algebra instead of Geometry. I would have started French 1.

In other words, I would have done my schedule right, and worked harder at getting better grades.

I would have made more effort at watching my weight. I would have embraced PE a little more.

I wouldn't have wasted my time on all those crushes. Abram, Jonathan, Bryan, and Matt.

Should have. Could have. Would have.

But I can't go back. Even if I could, would I? As much as I would like to see how things would have played out had I done them differently, I think deep down I wouldn't.

The night was May 27th, 2010. I had a 5:30-9:30pm class at AI. Digital Illustration. We were going through critiques over our sea creature logo. On the other side of campus in room 244 was a WordPress meet-up. I desperately wanted to be there rather than in class going over critiques. Over two hours had been spent on critiques and by then everyone was bored to tears. Each hour that went by our teacher let us go on a 10-minute break. It was on these breaks I snuck over to the meet-up room. It was a good distraction from everything going on in my personal life.

At one point I stayed for 30 minutes in the meet-up room. I figured no one in class would miss me. It was a large class and people constantly coming and going despite the critiques. I did feel bad as I slipped into the classroom 20 minutes after our allotted break. Before I knew it critiques were over and we were free to work on our projects. Just as I opened Adobe Illustrator, my phone lit up with an incoming call from my at-the-time fiancé, Joshua. I was curious. He knew I was in class, so why would he be calling me? I discretely slipped out into the hallway to take the call.

He informed me my grandmother was being rushed to the ER as we spoke because he heart rate was dropping. My mom and grandpa were on there way over to the hospital. My grandmother had been spending the last two weeks in a convalescent hospital for physical therapy. When I last saw her she was in good spirits, and I was fairly certain she was going to pull through.

Flash back two weeks ago. My grandfather had returned home from his stay in the hospital after suffering a minor heart attack. My mom had just come home the night before and was forced to come right back down when we received a phone call saying my grandmother had fallen and broke her hip. She went in for hip surgery and was recovering quite well in the convalescent hospital. My sister and I had visited her over the weekend, and while she was doing good overall, the last day I saw her she was hooked up to an oxygen tube. She assumed she had overexerted herself during a physical therapy session; she was a little scared but still very optimistic.

I hung up the phone asking Joshua to keep me posted. I didn’t receive anymore phone calls during class, so I assumed everything was okay. I left class at 9:30pm on the dot and headed home, worrying and already going over the plan in my head about coming down to visit again this weekend.

I was on highway 50 passing Watt Avenue when my phone lit up once more, this time not from Joshua but from home. My dad.

“Hello?”

“Cristina, she’s gone.”

I sit here in the corner watching as everyone goes about their business. That's the thing, everyone has their business. Everyone is off in their own little world, including me. Except I wonder if I am the only one noticing this.

I don't understand how people can go here and sit for hours on end. For me, there are way too many distractions. I'm not a fan of the music, so it makes it hard to concentrate. People going in and out, having conversations nearby, ordering their drinks, etc..

If I had my way there would be no music playing... or at least I would turn the music down. The music is so loud that it would interfere with whatever I chose to listen to on my headphones. Reminds me of an average day at work.

I watch the barista and can see she is overwhelmed. I think this is the same barista that got snarky me with me awhile back because I ordered a Light Caramel Frappucino and she made me a regular one.

I find it ironic being in a coffee shop and it's making me more tired than usual. Can't tell if it's because I am just tired or I'm feeling under the weather. I had Jamba Juice for lunch with an energy boost, and I'm feeling anything but energetic.

Honestly I'm having a hard time concentrating on the task at hand. Not only because of all the distractions, but because I am wondering about something completely unrelated to anything here. Actually no, it's slightly related, because I was here a week ago with that person. I'm wondering why a friend came to visit but didn't visit me. Why this friend didn't say hello or even let me know they were visiting. Wondering if I'm being ignored on purpose... starting to feel hurt and confused.

As soon as I got here today that friend text me, despite them visiting earlier and not saying anything to me about it. They don't know that I know they were there. Maybe they do, maybe they don't. I just don't know why they didn't say anything. At first I thought maybe they were going to surprise me, but they didn't. I'm hurt and confused.

And then the song that I was listening to in my car when I saw my friend walking down the street comes on in Starbucks. At first it put me in a better mood because it's a really good upbeat song, but then I remember everything associated with it today. I'm trying to move on and not think about it anymore because the more I think about it the more it upsets me.

I think the air conditioner just got kicked up a notch or two. In a shop of hot coffee I'm thinking about soup.

I wonder if the gentleman sitting across from me realizes the other three people sitting nearby him are all here for the same purpose and know each other. He's sitting there with his hot coffee reading his book, and occasionally glances back at them.

I'm curious if the snarky barista who puts on a happy face for show has noticed four patrons that haven't bought anything. Maybe it's business as usual, people coming in all the time with their laptops just for the free wi-fi.

I'm reminded of an episode of Sex & the City, where Carrie Bradshaw is at Starbucks with her laptop.

"I used to think that those people who sat alone in Starbucks writing on their laptops were pretentious posers. Now I know. They're people who have recently moved in with someone. As I looked around, I wondered how many of them were mid-fight, like myself."

Michelle's greatest desire is to feel like she belongs and is admired. She had always felt like she would never be noticed by any guys nor would she ever have the chance to shine in her love for the performing arts. She has never felt good enough. Michelle is at a fine arts summer camp where she has luckily landed the lead role in the final drama performance. It is her first lead role, and it's beyond a miracle she was chosen. She is also stuck in a slowly growing love triangle.

Although she's reached a pointed where she has accept quality, not quantity with her friends, she still has a hard time fitting in.

In the end, what she really wants is to experience being popular. In her mind, being popular is fitting in, having the opposite sex attracted to you, and to excel in the things you love.

This week I read the poem "Tattoo" by Ted Kooser. It immediately made me think of something my husband would say when we would people watch. "Everyone has a story."

The description of the tattoo goes into how it began as a statement but turned into so much more, like a symbol in later years. How someone can start off so tough and turn so soft in the end. It really makes you wonder what this person's story is about.

Based on the Fairy Tale by Hans Christian Andersen, this story tells the tale of a young girl whose seven brothers are turned into swans by an evil queen. The only way she can free them is to spin shirts of flax while not speaking a word until her task is complete. She fights for the love of a prince and her very own life in order to finish her task.

Elise awoke to her first clear morning since staying in the ocean-side palace. The fog had lifted earlier than expected, and a warm breeze grazed her face as she opened the window. She quickly dressed and gathered her flax along with the incomplete fifth shirt. Her quarters allowed her to slip in and out of the palace as she pleased. It gave her comfort to know that she was not a prisoner, but someone whom the Prince cared about. It was as though he understood she needed to be at peace and focus on the task at hand.

She wandered down to the beach and found a shady secluded spot between two large rocks away from any palace distractions. There she began spinning the flax and continued her work on the fifth shirt. Throughout the day she would glance at the horizon secretly yearning to see seven swans fly by. Nevertheless she kept to her work.

Later that day, the Prince took a stroll along the beach and happened upon Elise, still hard at work. “Here you are,” he exclaimed as he sat down next to her, brushing his hand against her face. She smiled only for a moment, and continued on with her work. He sat gazing out at the calm waves Elise paid no attention to as she was focused only on the shirt. He then looked at her small, porcelain hands covered in healing blisters and v-shaped scars, watching as she moved the needle through the loops, like a graceful dance only she knew the steps to.

“I wish I could understand why you must do this, why you must inflict this pain upon yourself. Someone so beautiful should not be so sad.”

Her pace slowed to a halt as she stared back at back at him with a mixture of sadness and guilt. She took his face in her hands, hoping he could see in her eyes how badly her vow of silence was tormenting her.

“I know, I know. You want to tell me, but you can’t. I know this is something I must accept.” He tried to turn his head away, feeling shameful that he briefly questioned her motives.

It pained her not to speak, but she knew if she did, the pain to her brothers would be much worse. How she wished to tell him, if only for a moment, how grateful she was to his kindness, to his friendship. Some day she would be able to.

“I must know. This will not last forever, will it?” She nodded reassuringly.

“When that day comes, I will do everything in my power possible to make sure you never endure this pain ever again.”

He took her hands in his and kissed them. “I only wish for your happiness.”

This week I read a short story called "French Fries" by Jane Martin. It talked of an old lady reflecting on her observations at McDonald's and how much she loved it there. She spoke with a thick southern accent and spoke about how McDonald's was like a safe haven where nothing bad could happen. Like a redneck church.

She talked about how you couldn't die in McDonald's but you could in other fast food restaurants. She blacked out in the end which led me to believe she was a crazy drunk kickin' it in McD's all the time.

Sooner or later he would have to go inside. At that moment he didn't care. All that mattered was the feel of his glass pipe in between his fingers, the sound of the flickering lighter as he inhaled calmness and exhaled numbness. The world was quiet, only white noise. The thoughts that were racing though his head now slowed to a steady, almost non-existent pace.

"You shouldn't smoke pot. It's bad for you," he could hear his mother snidely remark. He laughed just thinking about it. "What a hypocritical bitch! She don't even know what she talking about." This, coming from the woman who sniffed more coke than a dog sniffed asses.

You would think a mother and son could bond over something like drugs, but it was her addiction that drove him to his. And now the only person in the world that truly cared about him was gone. Instead, he was stuck with a cracked-out mother and an autistic sister.

He took another puff, hoping the suppressed anger and hurt would stay hidden. Not this time. He couldn't smoke and drink away this pain. This was real.

I remember the first day we met. Protocol dictated she take me for a test drive, but we both knew she had already made her mind up. She knew exactly what the answer would be. I wouldn’t call it love at first sight. No, it was more like at long last, love. This union was 11 years in the making. Did I know I would be getting someone like her? We all hope we would get an owner like her, and sometimes we’re really lucky. According to her, I was perfect, exactly what she wanted: green exterior, tan interior. I heard her tell the salesman that from the moment we appeared back in 1998 she loved us. She had always wanted one. And now, she was finally going to have one.

She tried to hold back her excitement as she slid into the driver’s seat. She didn’t want to give it away that she had already made up her mind. She wanted me, that was it, no test drive necessary. Once she pulled onto the freeway I could sense that this test drive was just sealing the deal. She talked about how this was the first time she had actually gotten to drive us; she sat in us, played around with the radio, but that was the closest she had ever been until now.

The next 24 hours were the longest of my life. I knew we were going to be together, but it was just a matter of when. All the paperwork had to be taken care of, money had to be acquired. She had to dot her i’s and cross her t’s before I was officially hers. Then finally she sat down for the first time as my owner. Reunited and it felt so good. I knew I was going to a good home.

Later that night was when the fun began. We celebrated by going to Chili’s, which later on, I would be visiting many times. She had gotten a new CD that day (Dido’s Safe Trip Home), so she decided to test my sound system. Her boyfriend and best friend weren’t sure what to make of the music, but she knew what she was listening to. I made that music sound good. After dinner we all went home, but that wasn’t enough for her. She wanted more. She loved having me. She and her best friend decided to take me out for a late night spin. We explored several different towns, seeing as the county we lived in was so small. I remember going through the tunnel on the way to Rodeo Beach, her favorite spot. Windows were down, sunroof was open, music was blasting, and they were yelling at the top of their lungs, as if going down the most intense rollercoaster imaginable. I had no idea how pivotal all the different emotions were at that moment. I assumed the screaming excitement was over me, and most of it was. As I later learned she was also letting out frustration, for her best friend would soon be her ex-friend and completely out of the picture.

We arrived at our destination after driving along windy roads through the dark hills: a beach dimly lit by the moon and lightly dusted in a thin layer of fog. we sat watching and listening to the waves crash in silence. I could have stayed there all night, and I think she could have too.

They say good things come to those who wait. We both had been waiting a long time to be together. I may be nothing more than a car, but I was hers. Only hers.

He walked out to the balcony, slowly, dragging his feet in his worn out slippers. Carefully he opened the screen door as it creaked along the track. The caregivers hadn’t bothered to straighten the chairs up for they knew every day after lunch, weather permitting, he would sit in his chair and look out at the bay. He always sat with his head hung low, as if always in prayer. He sat staring at the balcony railings, in their unique oriental shaped, just like his late wife had designed. Within the railings was a beautifully woven spider web. At first the spider was nowhere to be found, but upon staring long enough he spied her in a crevice of two railings, watching and waiting for her prey. Her web is her home, her art, her survival, her everything, it is her labor of love. And like that spider, his late wife had woven a web of her own, her art, her survival, her everything, and her labor of love.

A noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In "The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"

of and which are prepositions. The's
an article, a can's a noun,
a noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.

A can can roll - or not. What isn't was
or might be, might meaning not yet known.
"Our beets is filled with purple fuzz"
is present tense. While words like our and us
are pronouns - i.e. it is moldy, they are icky brown.
A noun's a thing; a verb's the thing it does.

Is is a helping verb. It helps because
filled isn't a full verb. Can's what our owns
in "Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz."

See? There's almost nothing to it. Just
memorize these rules...or write them down!
A noun's a thing, a verb's the thing it does.
The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz.

- - -

I liked this poem for a number of reasons. For one it was very witty and reminded me of something Shel Silverstein would write. As a kid I read a lot of Shel Silverstein and other poems similar to that. I also liked that it was a grammar lesson. Bad grammar really gets under my skin, so it’s nice to know I’m not alone in feeling that way.

• My grandmas


• Ariel doll


• Coding for old layouts


• Journal entries from high school


• Friends


• My two female cousins

One of my grandmas, my Nana, I lost on October 23rd, 2008. Considering the 3-year anniversary of her death is coming up this month, she was the first person I thought about when writing this list. I miss her a lot and think about her everyday especially since I am living in her house. Although every room has been completely redone, it still feels like her house because it has the feeling of a home. My sister is now living in Santa Cruz for college and talked to me recently about how she misses hanging out with me at my house. I told her it’s because it used to be Nana’s house and it’s home.

• My grandmas – women of wisdom that are no longer in my life


• Ariel doll – my childhood left in a bathroom at the Folsom Outlets


• Coding for old layouts – getting shift+delete happy and a reminder to back-up


• Journal entries from high school – Harriet the Spy backfired


• Friends – people that ended up not serving a purpose in my life anymore


• Two female cousins – girls that will hopefully grow up one day

She sat staring out of the window watching as the sunlight peaked its way through the trees. The trees, the paths, the forest, it was all familiar, like the face she looked at everyday in the mirror. Her mother sat in the front passenger seat looking out the window as well, thinking what it would be like without her daughter being at home for a week. Her father was probably thinking the same thing as he handled the steering wheel of the car sternly.

Sure she had been gone before and it was nothing new. She had been going to camp for five years and this would be her sixth one. She was happy to be back at the place she liked to call her second home, but she knew that she would miss her real home, even if it meant being away for a week. Or even two. The forest started to lose its thickness, as they got closer. The old, brown sign with its writing in orange-yellow read, “Sugarloaf Fine Arts Camp.” A smile spread across her face as they turned into the familiar driveway. She couldn’t help but smile and feel the goose bumps trickle up and down her arms. They passed the stage where campfire songs were sung and talents made known. It was the place where every night she would be reminded of how lucky she was to have friends.

After several months of being absent from LiveJournal, I have returned. Not to blog about my personal life but to log my creative writing. For my Creative Writing class I was required to have a journal to do my homework assignments in. So here I am.