I'm sitting at the bottom of a stair well with giant headphones feeding music into my consciousness.
It's all a necessary distraction.
I need to write. Need to tell stories. Want to work words into wondrous pictures that leap from the page and dance in eyes.
Nothing I write makes sense or is too flowery for me to be satisfied with.
I'm trying to bide my time, but I fear I'll lose this gift if I don't use it.
Patience, my heart says. Hurry, my mind says.
Sleep calls me to rest for another day.
Unsure of everything.

I'm so 3008...

Needed a new post. The last one is depressing me and looks silly.
The only purpose for this post is just that: To post.
So enjoy and look for more updates soon.

I definitely think I am a candidate for "most likely to make any moment awkward" award.
This actually happened to me today... not exactly in those terms, mind you.

Here's more silliness:

Aren't I just fun?

Snowflake

"It's going to snow," My mom said.
"No it's not," I argued.
"Yes it is! They said it was!" she insisted.
"It never snows here." I replied complacently.
She sighed, "It used to. You were too little to remember the last time it snowed real heavy."
But she was wrong.
I do remember because I was afraid to go outside. My two older brothers were having a snowball fight and I didn't want to get hit... and they were putting ice in them. Four-year-olds are not very fond of ice. Snow was fun, however, but it was cold. We couldn't be outside for very long without getting ill. Being that I'm from this vast temperate wasteland, I can never adjust to cold. But this doesn't mean that I don't like the cold. The opposite is in fact true. I'm very well adjusted to the warm... and hate it.
That was the last real snow I remember. Anything else that has happened has just been the weaker side of an ice storm so we barely get a dusting, if anything. The wonderful thing about that in itself, though, is that no one knows how to drive in these 'frigid' conditions so sometimes school will be delayed or even canceled. A snowman I cannot make on such days but a full morning I can use to catch up on some much needed sleep.
The lack of snow serves as an added element to the equation of why this time of year can be so dismal. It helps to remind me of the lack of magic from when I was little. The first time I suffered through a Christmas without snow I cried because that wasn't how Christmas was supposed to happen. Now, that's how every Christmas is. Cold. Just cold and there is no more magic. So forgive me for being just a little skeptical when I hear that it's going to snow here.
As I drove home the other day, there were little specks of water forming on my windshield. It was raining earlier that morning but later it had turned into microscopic flurries and that was all. The ground was still covered in grays and browns and greens.
Why? Because it never snows here. There is no more magic.
Something caused me to look out the window, however, and search for even the tiniest hint of white on the ground. As usual, I was disappointed.

"It's going to snow tonight."
"No it isn't. It never snows here."
"Well what if it does?"
"Well nothing. It won't snow."

I go to bed that night and wake up the next morning to the tune of the same routine.
Except there was one thing different.
As I stepped out the door I fell face first... into three feet of fresh snow.

Twelve Hours

(As written at 6 p.m. CST, November 4th, 2008) It was twelve hours ago I woke up to do something I've never done before and will not do for another two years. In an hour it will have been twelve hours since the polls opened and thusly will close.

I'm sitting here now, looking at my 'I Voted' sticker that is sitting so lifelessly on my desk. It finally fell off after being good enough to stay on until I got home this afternoon and I've left it on the desk since. It's edges are curled and it bears a smart little clipart of the American flag but what does it mean?
As I said, I woke up and got ready early in preparation to contest with the tremendous hordes that were sure to await me at the polls. The parking lot of the Senior Center was full indeed but tremendous horde there was not. It was too early for me to be surprised. Instead I was thankful so I could go ahead and get this over with. The speediness which I hoped for was not exactly what everyone else with the last name of 'A - G' had in mind, however. Frankly the clerks at the 'H - Z' desks looked rather bored.
As I waited in line I couldn't help but laugh a little to myself when I looked at the ceiling and studied the party lights that the Senior Citizens use in their 'Ballroom'. I found myself picturing them shuffling around us, 'dancing' in clothes so ridiculous looking to people my age.
I then started studying the people who were voting and how they were doing it. Being my first time, I couldn't help but notice the demographics of the voters I observed. Most were old and caucasian. I attribute this fact to the time of morning I was there and that's all. More people would come, I knew, and these would be as different than the people I was standing around now. This was, after all, 'the most important race of our lifetime!' I'm sure I'll hear that four years from now.
The voting process looked simple enough. I was to be briefed in the fine points of voting by my father but I got in line before he showed up. When he did come, three people behind me, he came over to where I was waiting and gave me a sample ballot and said where to vote straight party and said to just vote 'yes' on all the amendment stuff because it was all for a good cause in the end. I was thankful he didn't tell me who to vote for. He's made it clear how he was going to vote but left that decision unprotested to my brothers and me. My mother, however, was another story.
At school, we are encouraged to vote, if eligible. We are to vote as we see fit and should not call ourselves Republicans or Democrats but rather be independent. This is all a lie. No one asked me who I voted for because deep down they assumed I voted 'the right way'. Governement class has been nothing but propaganda for a certain candidate that I had to vote for and anything that was bad was attributed to the other. I heard lies, fake statistics, and just plain ignorance that gave me no small irritation everyday. It's no fault of their own, in a way. Their problem is that they believe whatever they're fed and don't just take the time to think. They don't think logically. But who feeds it to them? Our 'independent' teachers and faculty. They hear it from the pulpits and from their parents.
Now don't think I'm going 'anti-religion' here. I myself support religion and what have you but at least the preacher of our congregation hasn't told us 'vote for this candidate because it's how Jesus would vote!' I'm thankful that he's looked at the big picture and reminded us all that whatever happens in situations like this shouldn't be our focus in life and tear us apart. That's one reason I respect that man.
All I was getting at was how impressionable you can let yourselves become that presents itself to you in the form of expanding your little safety bubble that keeps you from the world outside. The real world.

The polls close in thirty minutes.

What does it mean that I've voted? To be honest, I didn't like either of the candidates. I didn't like the way our so called 'resepectable' candidates ran their tv ads and let their subordinates run loose with filth so degrading it makes me sad to be living here. I didn't know more than half of the people running for offices. It was all rather dissappointing, but I did it. I voted to see what's going to happen. To see if my voice really does get heard by people who are supposedly working for me. It's more of a test than a source of pride for me. Voting was the beginning and seeing how things go will decide for me whether I attempt it again next time.
Now that I understand more of how our government works, the less I feel confident in the system. Everything that our government is supposed to stand for just seems like the total opposite in real life. The whole Presidential race seems pointless let alone whether my vote actually matters. The people I entrust with my vote are less honest than I'm lead to believe and I then kick myself for believing it. Why even vote for President? Odds are that we'll hate him two years from now and his party will worthlessly stand behind him while the other party gloats and says 'I told you so!' to all of us.

Fifteen Minutes.

It's all pretty much a popularity contest. Whoever has the most money will hire the best speech writers and produce the flashiest commercials. When the general public watches the commercials, they tend to get distracted by shiny objects and lies and hardly bother to look up facts for themselves. But why look up the facts? The media just lies about that too. Everything comes full circle. The wealthiest candidate will push money into the hands of some greedy CEO and say, "I heard that back some time ago, Candidate So-and-So did something rather nasty!" and the CEO will fondle the bills and say, "I'll make it happen."

Ten Minutes.

So why even bother to get up and wait in line and vote for a candidate I care nothing for? Am I just running in the wheel like they want me to, or can I dare to hope that I'm just being too snarky and maybe, just maybe, there is some honesty and democracy in this seemingly fixed thing? Could it be that somewhere, there are some politcians that care? Even if it's just some low ranking "Vice Secretary of Agriculture" or whoever that does his job just because he loves what he's doing it for - not money- but what his position stands for then I believe that that is a reason to vote.

Five Minutes.

Should I worry about it? No. God tells me not to. He just tells me to respect and honor whoever it is and obey the laws within reason. God did not tell me who to vote for. I believe that if have honest reasoning to vote for who I do than it is not a sin. It's ridiculous that I've even had to compose an argument for such a thing, but could you believe that such cirsumstances have occured?
There's going to be a fuss no matter who wins and it will all blow over soon enough. All I need to do is care enough to vote and then go about my business. In retrospect, it all boils down to more worry and more dissension that is so unneccessary.

Like I said, this is just a test. Now all I need to do is sit back and watch what happens.

The Polls Have Closed.

Ride to live...

I sat on the front porch the other afternoon and noticed another familiar character coming down the street. I decided I might as well tell you about him too.


For lack of anything to derive a name from, we'll just call him Sam. Sam rides down the streets of our downtown city on his retro bicycle and loves to chew tobacco. Loves it so much, his cheek has become deformed from constant exposure to the acidic liquids. You never see him without it, so swollen his cheeks.
In a former life, you could guess that Sam was any number of things. The camo jacket he wears year-round suggests that Sam was an army man. It's become so fitted, though, I seriously doubt he could take it off.
The tobacco-inflated cheek aside, Sam seems pretty healthy. He rides that 70's era bike all over town and possibly never stops.
That bike of his is a wonder within itself. The rusty blue metal denotes it's age; it's white basket is always filled to the brim. Never forgetting the most important rule of 'Safety First', Sam has affixed an orange flag on a long, skinny pole to the back of his bike. You can tell when he's just down the street because the fluttering of that flag catches you out of the corner of your eye.
Sam never stops to speak with anyone and just stares straight on to his next destination. He'll pass you by without so much as a smile, wink, or nod. You just see him and he sees no one.
Where does he go?
No one can say for sure, but I have a theory.
When darkness falls, Sam rides his bike around town as usual. The only difference being, his bike unfolds into a flying machine. He flies through the air and looks down on the sleepy citizens of the sleepy downtown. Sam goes from rooftop to rooftop tending to the gardens he has planted on top. See, in this sleepy little town, no one ever bothers to look up. But if you did, you'd notice a secondary skyline jutting from the top of the buildings. Trees, flowers, bushes, and vegetation all awash in the sun. If you were to look, you'd even see Sam's tobacco crop on top of city hall.
One day Sam will make his night trip and not return. He will have returned to earth and all that will be left of him is the bicycle. Somebody will take it and find a note stuffed into the basket. It will be Sam's last will and testament, stating that whosoever found the bike was meant to carry on the garden. As for Sam, he will be at rest amongst all his tobacco plants, right on top of city hall.

Fiction

I got online the other day and read a short story someone had made up about a random guy they saw on the subway. I think it would be fun to try, so here goes:

People call him Ray. That's what he'll tell to you to call him. He walks down the street with a garbage bag in his hand; sometimes it's a Wal-Mart bag. It doesn't matter because whatever is is, it's always filled with aluminum cans. Searching endlessly for those aluminum cans.
It would be hard to say how old Ray is because no one knows for sure and according to what he says, he sat behind everyone from Jesus to MLK in the second grade. If you were to look at him, though, you could tell he wasn't a crazy old man, but a crazy middle-aged one.
His attire varies with the seasons but will always be composed of some crappy black sneakers that he's scuffed to ruin and jeans that no one can say were ever any shade of blue. There's usually a t-shirt too. In the winter he puts on a vest and a long sleeve shirt over the short-sleeved one. He's always got that same trucker hat too.
He walks, or scuffs rather, like a zombie, down the street at a slow pace. This is to insure he can spy any aluminum cans on the ground and he can also feel free to pee on anyone's yard whenever he is so inclined. I've seen it happen before; he'll drop his bags of aluminum cans and unzip himself wherever he is standing. It makes you feel sorry for the people who drive by and just happen to notice what Ray's up to.
Everyone in town knows Ray and everyone in town seems to avoid him. It's sad to say that it isn't hard to avoid such a man when you can hear him coming a mile away. Even if you don't see him, you can hear the "chink-thud" combination of his bags of aluminum cans banging against his legs. He always has those cans.
Ray seems not to care what anyone thinks and just goes about his business no matter what you're doing. Once I was attending a semi-formal event at the public park and Ray came through with his bags and dug through the garbage can as if on a mission.
Always searching for those aluminum cans.
When we hear Ray coming up the street, we go inside the house so he won't yell at us or pee on our lawn. Well, he's probably done the second thing without our former knowledge.
So where does Ray go when the day is done?
He's built himself a grand house with those aluminum cans and is still building to this day. Magnificent walls of Sprite and mosaic floors made out of the off-brand cans he picks up. It's a his own mansion on a hilltop, except that it's made entirely out of aluminum cans.
The day we don't hear the familiar warning of "chink-thud" coming down the street is the day we know Ray's living in that glorious palace of recycled treasure.

-Rebecca