define the passage of time.

pick a bad experience.
let time blur the details and shift the focus off the pain.
write about it in a new voice.
mature the wisdom of understanding.
see what was once a mistake as an invaluable part of life.
view what was once ugly from a new angle,
so that it becomes beautiful.

random. but do you expect anything less?

1. a baby is born with 300 bones, but an adult only has 206. if someone wants to explain that to me i'd appreciate it.
2. the truman show. sometimes i think i might be truman. you'd tell me if i was truman, right?
3. ugh. i hate when my hands swell. and they get all tingly from celiac crap.
4. big&rich. hinder. shania twain. celine dion. creed. nickleback. ugh. ugh. ugh. ugh. ugh. ugh.
5. favorite number.
6. sommmmeeeebody trade intestines with me. seriously. anybody.
7. i still believe i'll be a cosby kid or a soul train dancer when i grow up. oh and i'll for sure be married to joe jonas.
8. lawd, i love a list.
9. i got back from chicago 5 days ago. my left calf muscle is still sore.
10. speaking of obession, i'm infatuated with anatomical hearts. perhaps it's just the word anatomical.
11. wait, you'd let me know if i really was truman, right?
12. oh i suppose you need to know why my left calf muscle hurts. i got lost for 3 hours. and what i mean by lost is, i walked for 3 hours. in the cold chicago rain. my toes were bleeding. and i was attacked by a vicious wolf/dog and he ate my hand off. okay, one of these statements is false. and according to terry, all of these statements are false.
13. my ocd/anxiety is just not going to let me post a number 13.
14. why do all my friends call/text/bbm me to diagnose them? and why do i always know the answer? i think i'm a hypocondriac.
15. my therapist says it's good for me to write these lists because they help me worry less and they tone down my OCD rituals. however, i'm going to make #15 long just because 15 is a nice well rounded number to end on. so much for toning down my rituals huh?

i will never lay down without a fight.

i've been reading donald miller's "a million miles in a thousand years".
and i mostly feel like i'm looking in a mirror.
or reading about myself.
reading about my family..

"Robert McKee put down his coffee cup and leaned onto the podium. He put his hand on his forehead and wiped back his gray hair. He said, "You have to take your character to the place where he just can't take it anymore." He looked at us with a tenderness we hadn't seen in him before. "You've been there haven't you? You've been out on the ledge. The marriage is over now; the dream is over now; nothing good can come from this."
He got louder. "Writing a story isn't about making your peaceful fantasties come true. The whole point of the story is the character arc. You didn't think joy could change a person, did you? Joy is what you feel when the conflict is over. But it's conflict that changes a person." His voice was like thunder now. "You put your characters through hell. You put them through hell. That's the only way we change."

a couple of pages later:

"..I wasn't numb anymore. I was allowed to feel the brunt of it. The bones penetrated my chest in a sudden rip, emptying a body of blood down my shirt and onto my lap. The blood pooled in the lap of my pants and seeped into the carpet in my hotel room. I clasped my hand over my heart and knelt between the bed and the television and rolled onto the floor and cried out to God a lamenting demand that he would come and save me from the sorrow that, for the immensity of it, I could only attribute to him in the first place. I didn't want to learn whatever it was he wanted to teach me. I cried out to him an angry petititon for rescue. I doubted him and needed him at the same time. God seemed to me, in that moment, a cruel father burning a scar into my skin with his cigarette. And yet I knew he was the only one with the power to make the pain go away."

i understand nothing in this moment.

my heart feels like it's in a coma.

and further,

 if there was any hope left for love in the romantic sense,

i assure you it's dead.
my trust has been shot down within inches of obliteration.

so, good luck with that.

lately.

i can't..

speak clear sentences.
form a thought intelligent enough to say in class.

eat normally.

grasp the concept of time.

do anything social.

find my emotions.

keep my phone charged.

get my obsession with books and music under control.

get my freckles to come out of hiding.
paint.

i think the world is spinning backwards again.

peter pan.

by the end of 2010,

2 more girls out of this group will have worn a white dress down the aisle.

when did i become an adult?

when am i supposed to become an adult?

current desires.

realistic? polaroid film. to read a new book. bon iver singing through my record player. acrylics. the nuggets. sleep. a real christmas tree.  a slumber party. to be creative. nashville. a hug.

unrealistic? a massive cheeseburger. john mayer playing live. in my room. only to me. a pirate ship. long hair. honduras. a piglet. a cocacola iv. more time. too many cameras from urban outfitters. an apartment in london. normal hair. joe jonas*.

*joseph gordon-levitt would also suffice.

red.

i do not know what to do with anger.

i wear anger like a crown of defeat and the defeat is always liquid. 

i drown in my anger, I refuse to rise above it.

i am neither threatened nor threatening because of anger.

i am consumed but subsumed by it.

i am one for quiet rage.

i do not know how to wield my anger: it becomes not a weapon, not a shield. it is more like a shell, a bunker [to keep this wartime line of thinking], a place to lose and find myself lost.

it protects me from nothing.

anger is always heavy.

think of dusty velvet robes. think of a soaked towel. the image is always that of surrender. Powerless power.

i bottle up my anger in fragile glass jars.

and then i hurl them towards the wall of my consciousness, again and again..

in repair.

i have you, but i don't want you. but only sometimes. i don't have you, but i want you. i'm the most independently dependent person ever. one second i'm clingy. the next i don't want you around. i have my own friends, but i want to meet all of yours. i always get my feelings hurt, but i'm tough as nails. i just want to be needed. i will be in control and fix everything. i cry alot and secretly long to have kids, but i want to run away to a big city and start this whole thing called life over all by myself. i want you there. i want you to wipe away my tears. i don't ever want you to see me cry. i've got this. i'll make my own money and buy everything myself. take me out to dinner and treat me nice. just hold me for a while. not too tight.

i say yes, but i mean no.

and i say no, but i mean yes.

call waiting.

fall, my dear friend, lets talk. but if i may offer a few conditions:

1. you must allow me a few more days to roll my windows down in lafonda.

2. you must stop asking me if i want a pumpkin spice latte when i go to starbucks. been there. tummyache.

3. you must find me some procrastinating trees--ones that hold onto their leaves until the last possible second.

4. you must find some gluten-free alternatives to my favorite thanksgiving dishes.

5. you must paint new realities with spices. and colors. and scents. and songs. and wind. and friends. and worship. and love. and silence.

6. you must be cold enough that people have a reason to huddle together.

7. but not too cold that people stay indoors, tucked away.

8. you must be yourself, fall. but if you are looking to dress the part of another, i urge you in the way of summer and not winter.

..more demands to come as i stumble upon them..

vent.

[disclaimer]if you read past this be prepared for a 30 second vent session.

for the people that haven't seen me recently let me predict our conversation:

"you look so skinny!

why yes. i have lost weight.

working out?

um.no.

well how?

celiac disease."

but what i really want to say is..
"i'm hungry.

i dream about food.

i'll even smell your breath after you eat bread.

i have the brain of a 500 pound obese man.

i have devils running in my intestines.

with spiked boots on.

and sharp, knifelike teeth.

don't say i look good.

i don't want to look good.

i want to be a 500 pound man.

give me cellulite. fat rolls. double chins.

give me jiggley arms. cottage cheese thighs."

 i don't want to validate my set of devil intestines. i blame them for "looking so good".

i would whole heartedly accept "looking so good" if i "felt so good".

but i don't.

biggest pet peeve.

hodge podge.

yesterday, i found myself sitting cross legged on a hard chair in the library. headphones on. before i knew it the tears that had been welling up in my eyes for weeks were falling down my face and picking up speed by the second. i was crying. in the library. filled with people who don't know my name. who don't know my thoughts and ambitions. who don't know my likes and dislikes.

to begin with, library people, my name is sydney. my thoughts and ambitions change too rapidly for me to sit here listing them for you.. or for me to pretend like i understand them myself. today, my likes seem to be few, and my dislikes seem to be vast. i feel aimless. i feel undisciplined. i can't make myself fit into any categories i've come across.. god knows i've tried to find an appropriate label for myself. i don't know what i want "to do." i can't seem to find the proper fit. i'm a hodge podge. i want to do everything. is that so wrong? no. so, library people, please tell me, what do i do now? how do i kill time until i get to do what i want to do? why has this been the only consistent answer i have to the question"what do you want to be when you grow up"? what am i supposed to with that? can any one of you tell me, oh distinguished librarian? i can't major in hodge podge or a little bit of this and a little bit of that. i can't take classes on how to be creative. geez i think i already am. and maybe i'm realizing it a little bit too late.. but i don't want to be given a handbook of regulations on the first day of my new job. i don't want to be told i can't hug the bodies that hold the brain i'm supposed to mold. i can't stand conforming. i won't do it. i can't. maybe i should just get through school, get the job, then rebel. i'm not satisfied right now. who's to say i'll ever be satisfied with anything i've done? library people, can you tell me anything?? can anybody help me?

no one said a word.

they all just sat and stared.

oh well. guess i'll figure it out later.

neh.

today i was listening to the song "we run this town" [jay-z.] when kanye sang:

"have you ever had shoes without shoe strings?" to which i replied:

"yes. they're called sandals. duh."

i followed that up with

"hold up kayne. ima let chu finish yo speech.."

then i stuck my tongue out.

a letter to jon gosselin.

Dear Jon Gosselin,

i once was a fan of your show. i occassionally felt sorry for you. i understand that having eight children and a wife who emasculates you every chance she gets must have been hard, but here's the thing.. you have eight children. you are 32. cool it with ed hardy attire. puh-leeze.

thanks.

oh,+PS. rumor has it you bought a 2 bedroom apartment in manhattan. Uh, do I need to point out{again} that you have eight children? You aren't a bachelor. You don't need a bachelor pad.    Grow up. That ship has sailed, buddy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
one last thing. take out those ridiculous shiny dinner plates you have poked through your ears. {ROUND 3 of reminders: you have eight children}
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

eh, maybe one more thing. your new girlfriend's eyebrows creep me out. a lot.

when your daddy said you were a princess..

He was telling you a story.

No boy is going to sweep you up and kiss you as you lay dying, a result of eating a poisonous apple.. because that's just creepy. You probably shouldn't have let a stranger in your house to begin with. He is not going to fly you around on a magic carpet, and if you are so lucky, I assure you he has flown lots of other girls on that very same carpet. And when he searches his own kingdom for you, just to return a forgotten shoe, it's because he thinks you're easy. When plates, untensils, and clocks not only come alive, but begin to sing and try to feed you dinner, you should probably call for help. You were rufied. I really hope you never get locked in a tower surrounded by dragons because you'll have to grow your hair out. And that is such a hassle. Besides, some girls look better with short hair. I also pray your parents aren't overbearing and don't let you grow legs and live on land, just for a boy. Or date a hot white settler even though he's of a different nationality, but maybe you should've listened to them because now you might have just sold your voice to an overweight octopus. Someone is bound to die or be injured because you're just so in love. I also would not consider you a functioning, sane person if you got advice from birds, candle sticks, a cricket, a lobster, mice, your horse, a willow tree, your pet tiger, a racoon, or any other inanimate object or animal.

 found

{but you do get to wear a pretty dress, so maybe it's worth it}

little letters.

dear everybody that doesn't know i'm still in school,
please stop asking if i'm still in school. i am. you will know when i graduate. there will probably be a town parade.


dear gluten,
please don't be in everything that tastes so good.


dear intestines/stomach,
please don't be allergic to gluten. you're making me miserable.


dear person who hit my car and didn't leave a note,
i am still angry at you.


dear people upstairs,
please stop playing roller derby, practicing for the olympic gymnastics team, or mosh pitting upstairs. you do have someone living under you. and sweet niblets, stop prancing in heels at 8 oclock in the morning.


dear hair,
please grow.


dear bank account,
please grow.


dear sleep,
i know we haven't been the best of friends. i'm not really sure if we were ever friends. but please come back to me and let me enjoy you at a reasonable hour. this nocturnal stuff is no fun when you live by yourself.


dear headaches,
you are going to make me overdose on tylenol.


dear roxy,
please stop barking at the asians on tv. i did not raise you to be racist.


dear nashville,
never change. you will be my home soon enough.




love,
sydney