Oasis

I left you in a puddle on the floor
And as the last ripple erupted, wavered, and then died,
I was sure I had seen the last of you
My dear
My darling
My venomous love.
My robe in tatters, pieces scattered but now I am a Queen
This desert is my palace, my dry, sacred haven
Far from you, free from you
Aeons later, in my wanderings, I see you in the distance
Smoking against the cloudless sky, steam rising
But what's this?
My dear
My darling
My venomous love.
You are an oasis, and I've never been so glad to see you.

Helpless Helper

It's my job to help people; to heal people, the sick people. It's what I signed up for, what I'm designed for...to be strong for the weak and fight for the defenseless. Now in this moment, when all I want is to fulfill what I am and who I am, I find my hands tied. A month ago I was starting IVs and fighting tirelessly for other people's grandparents because I was the one wearing the scrubs. I was the one with the answers and the control. Now I'm wearing a gray sweater that I can't stop pulling at and blue jeans that don't keep me warm in the chilly hospital room. And this time it's my grandma laying there in the blue gown and white sheets... and I can't do anything about it. A powerless bystander, a helpless helper. Deathcab's "what sarah said" plays in a loop as I try to think of something to say to my family. How did those machines that I am so familiar with become so ominous? How come the words that used to come so easily to strangers now fail me with my loved ones? I want to shake the nurses and scream, "I'm one of you!!! Let me see the charts!!" But I know that won't do any good, save getting me kicked out. I look at her, so still and quiet but for some reason, looking younger and more lovely than I have ever seen before and I can think of a million things to say to her: "You can't leave... we need you to hold this entire family together. You're the linchpin, you're the cornerstone that brings us together. We can't make it without you and I can't picture life without you. Your fried chicken, your sassy remarks, your quiet strength and your spunk... can't leave us." But in the jumble of awkwardness and uncomfortable silences, it comes out as, "How are you feeling, Grandma?"

Secret Book

I should really have more secret treasures. I went antique shopping with a friend and spotted an old leather bound book that caught my eye. I flipped the pages, relishing the rich scent of time and paper ( I love the smell of old books) and couldn't resist taking it home. I am not one for destroying literature, but I saw in a movie once someone who cut the pages out of a book to hide secret treasures in, and decided I wanted to do the same. So I spent the better part of an hour creating a cove for all my secret treasures, when I realized... I have none. I have no valuables, no racy love notes, no special trinkets to hide in my book. Sure, I have a handful of shameful secrets I hide from prying eyes, but I hide them in my heart, in a different book I have spent years carving out. And though I keep them safely tucked away, I'm sure they will be brought to light just like whatever I put in my book will likely be rousted from its hiding place. Everything done in secret will be brought to light someday, so they say. Perhaps secrets are overrated....

Airing of the Grievances

Do you think that perhaps, this time, you ask too much? Is this your ploy, to take and take what you've given me until I have nothing left but yourself to sustain me? If you wanted me to have (and to rely on) nothing but you, then why did you so freely let these gifts fall into my hands? I asked you if I could have them. I asked if they would be good for me, good for us. You were silent. Now, you speak but I can no longer recognize your voice. Whether it is because I closed up my ears for too long or because you stopped speaking, I can't tell which.

funk

You ever just feel like something is off, like a unidentifiable funk is hanging over your head? I just can't get into the summer groove, boys and girls. I can't do it. I just can't enjoy the sun while studying for the NCLEX is hanging over my head like a storm cloud. On a lighter note, my lovely pilot boy returned to the states yesterday, then jetted off to WI for the summer. Being apart will be hard, (sorry,... difficult) but I also think it will have some good aspects to it. I'm so disorganized... I probably shouldn't be blogging when I am this scatterbrained. I just finished reading The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, fantastic read. She tells about her life in an eccentric, impoverished family and her adventures with her alcoholic but lovable father and impulsive (and probably bipolar) mother. I couldn't put it down. Go read it today. I'm gonna go eat some left over pizza.

Not ready

I scheduled my licensure exam for July 30. That means, God willing, that come August I will officially be a nurse and ready to get a grown-up job. I will desperately miss being a barista, though I may keep it as a part time job just so I can keep up my latte art skills. I feel like a child thrust into an adult body and social role, I don't feel my age. But then again, I never really have. I made a conscious decision to grow up a while ago, and that has drastically affected my behavior. I am behaving more maturely and responsibly, but I still feel 17. Maybe I always will. And is that really so wrong?

straw fedora and a pink chemise

Startling realization from an unexpected source. I was bored out of my skull this afternoon, so I sat down to take a college exit survey emailed to me last week. It asked me my opinion on my college experience, then my opinions on global issues and then my opinions about what is important in life. I was surprised to find that my responses revealed parts of my heart I only suspected were present. I discovered that the only thing that really gets my heart beating faster (regarding my future) is service, not pursuit of monetary gain. I think... I think I may want to be a missionary nurse. The thought of actively helping the helpless makes me feel alive in a way I haven't in a long time. It won't be a profitable life choice (in fact, I may have to work a year just to afford a missionary lifestyle) but I honestly can't picture myself happy just living for myself. Goodness. This is big news, the kind of news that changes just about everything.

identity crisis

So I've been thinking about where to take my blog, because I wanted to make it more useful to people, and something they can relate to like a fashion blog or a fitness blog. But I love fashion, fitness, poetry, creative writing, and random thought blogs... so there's no way I could fit all those into one. I also don't know which people would most like to see. So I guess I will just keep doing what I'm doing, which is post whatever the heck I feel like. I'll call it a friendship blog, and it'll just be me being me, hoping that someone finds in me a kindred spirit. Or whatever. :)

Graduation caps are silly looking

Who started the tradition of wearing tassled squares atop your head to signify completion of a college education? They look silly and are darn hard to keep on if you were born with an abnormally small head like me. Well, an abnormally small everything, really. Yes friends, I graduated today. I joined a sea of black robes and multi-colored tassles and I even did a stereotypical jumping-while-throwing-cap photo shoot. I am (well, technically I still have to pass my exam...) for all intensive purposes, a nurse. A NURSE! I could go on and on about the joys and terrors of being a nurse, ranging from holding a new baby to collecting stool samples, but rather than doing that I will simply say that this profession is not what I chose. It is who I am. It's been a long, hard road but I have arrived at my destination, which ironically enough is the first step leading to another long hard road. And though my training has me adequately prepared, I know (and fear) that I still have so so so much to learn. I think I need to watch Dead Poet's Society to get me pumped up for the journey. CARPE DIEM!!!

My entire life fits into three black trash bags.

Ok, so it's not literally three trash bags, but I am referring to the feeling you get when you pack up and move and you have an actual visual representation of everything you possess in the world. To me it looks like a large pile of lumpy trash bags, a few mirrors, a futon, a desk, and a large framed floor puzzle of "where the wild things are". Today is moving day, my friends... a day many dread, and also a day where you realize who your true friends are. They say that your true friends are the ones who show up on moving day, so we'll see. (Little do they know that this is a test, and no-shows get cut out of my life forever. See ya, suckers!!) Kidding about that, by the by. I spent last night at my new place, it was strange to wake up and feel a panic of not remembering where I am. But I am also excited for this adventure. I have equal parts of homebodiness and rolling stone in me, which is convenient because a part of me is placated by whichever turn my life takes. So here goes rolling stone, I am eager for the beginning of a new era while my homebody laments the passing of the last one. Do tell me, are you a homebody or a rolling stone?

Small comforts

So today I said my goodbyes and handed my darling boy over to Africa, begging it to take good care of him. Despondent, I found solace in my new batch of records that I enjoyed with a cup of green tea, cross-legged on my living room floor. Bon Iver's album, For Emma, Forever Ago is a life-changing piece when listened to on CD and absolutely transcendental when listened to on vinyl. The husky, dusky vocals and delicate, intoxicating instrumental intricacies make me feel as if I am walking barefoot through a moss-covered forest. For lighter, cheerier tunes, I just purchased the Ra Ra Riot album, Rhumb Line. All around great listen, interesting lyrics and the music is catchy but not dumbed down. Reminds me of a Tokyo Police Club/Vampire Weekend hybrid (both of which are on my list of albums to get on vinyl). Hopefully I will have a little extra money for new music, I think the next two artists I want to invest in are Lissie and Laura Gibson. Very uncharacteristic for me since I trend towards male vocalists but I am in love with their croaking, sing-me-to-sleep song styles. Check them out if you have the time.

Happy for you, but not happy

My darling pilot boy is leaving today for Rwanda, and will be gone the whole summer... it is a complicated emotion. I am ecstatic for him, and the amazing opportunity he gets to experience another culture and reach out to a hurting people... but at the same time I want him here with me. Perhaps this is how my mother felt when my father was called away with the Air Force time and time again. I'm happy for you, and so so very proud... but not happy.

I've missed you

I apologize for my absence, darlings, it's been a whirl of activity the past few weeks. I'll just share one thought I had the other day, and I beg your pardon if it comes off as a rant; it's meant merely as a critically thinking observation.
So I was thinking about the standards of beauty. I made a list in my head: Perfectly shaved legs/armpits, breath that smells of peppermint, red lips, smokey eyes, painted finger/toenails, tanned skin, perfectly groomed eyebrows, multi-colored, highlighted hair. What do these things have in common? Well, all of them are in some way part of the standard of beauty. Oh, and none of them occur naturally, or at least not in the way we are accustomed to them. They are a parody, a cartoon version of natural beauty. It's like a banana versus banana flavored taffy. Now please don't misunderstand me... I'm not a bra-burning feminist and I currently have shaved legs and painted nails myself... but I think these next few weeks I am going to try embracing my natural beauty and I wish more women (and men, please) would do the same. Let us love ourselves! Heck, I may even leave the house without make-up. Yikes!

do it like a dude

My friends constantly make fun of me for (their words, not mine) "dressing like a lesbian". Baggy plaid shirts, baggy denim shirts, combat boots, ripped up jeans... I have found that the way I feel reflects how I choose to dress myself. For the longest time I chose to be single, to be on my own, independent. I didn't need anybody and nobody needed me. I was a lone-wolf kind of dude. So I dressed like a lone-wolf kind of dude. Now as I embark on selecting my new spring wardrobe I find myself drawn to skirts, dresses, floral tops... And I suspect it's because for the first time in a long time, I feel like a girl. He makes me feel like a girl.
*note: this is not an exact science. I still plan on wearing my plaid shirts. Heck, I paid for 'em and by golly... I'm gonna wear 'em.

Bucket list

I can hardly believe it. In just a few short weeks I will receive a certificate that authenticates me as a f'real diploma carrying adult. I have so many things I want to do during my first year of adulthood and now that I will have more free time and steady income, I can do them! Here are just a few things I really want to do with the next year of my life. Some are concrete, some are abstract, all are long-awaited:
- Take guitar lessons
- Take voice lessons
- buy a road bike
- Work my way through the long list of books I want to read
- Brush up on my Spanish
- Get a tattoo
- Take some time for self-discovery
- Beef up my record collection
- Practice my obscure hobbies, like clothes altering, soap carving, and etch-a-sketching
- Go backpacking
I think those are pretty realistic for a whole year, there's no reason I can't at least knock out most of those. I'm excited.

Soiled

I have dirt and grit and mud on my face, caked in my eyes so I can no longer see the light. I wipe it away with equally muddy hands, wiping and wiping and never any cleaner for my troubles. I want so desperately to have my face cleaned, but I know before I can I must wash my hands. If only I could see to wash them.


I know this may make no sense to you, but I have no other way to describe what I am feeling.

so much bittersweetness

The end of the school year is rapidly approaching. Today I went to two events that have such a ball of emotion wedged in my throat, I may need CPR. I am in love with my church and my church family, today was the senior luncheon where we got to celebrate graduating and leaving our home of the past four years. It was so strange to remember just four years ago as a freshman, hearing the announcement for the senior lunch and fantasizing about the day I would be able to attend. It is bittersweet, at best. Today was also the last staff gathering for the coffee shop where I work. We had a picnic in the park and sat around as the seniors one by one recounted their favorite memories. I am so glad I chose to stay and work there for the summer, I am no where near ready to give up this group of wonderful people I have grown to love so dearly. Life transitions are always awkward and, not to overuse the word, bittersweet. There is something beautiful about a life change; you are set free to be someone new and to reinvent yourself, but in most cases you leave behind a part of yourself that perhaps you loved. This coffee shop (though it is so much more than that) will always have a special place in my heart. I have laughed,cried, studied, played, danced, loved, and lived there for two years now. It had instilled in me a passion for coffee and community that I will take with me as I move on with my life. I am grateful, to say the least. This post is uninteresting, I know, for I believe that no one can truly understand the magic of my workplace unless you have been there. It is like an adopted family who are all dedicated to the same cause and work and play together with a selfless love for each other that spills out onto anyone who comes in contact with them. It is magic. I could go on but I am rambling already. If you would like, tell me a story about a place where you found a home away from home. I would love to hear it, and thank you for listening. :)