It isn't telling me anything, just making me more confused.

The room was fogged over. A dim light was illuminating the corner of the bar. Its attempt to show the occupants their misdeeds was ignored and shoved into the smallest area of the place. I was sitting in a chair that was at least 30 years old and must have been of a service to thousands of customers. I felt its power working over me as I listened to the cover band for Billie Holiday. The Billie was adding a twist to her predecessor's haunting melodys and I was disappointed but also elated to get a fake if not small taste of the 40's jazz era. I look older than I really am, sitting alone at a small table in a small bar in a big city. The notes from the band floated over me as I sat there, waiting for nothing to happen, waiting to go home and be comfortable again. I'm so uncomfortable as I sit there, being ogled by men, envied by women and so alone. The bar is just a mirage as I am transported to the room I so wish to occupy, a younger image of myself appears. Happy, smiling, thinking of all the things that had happened with her today. She didn't fall. She wasn't sad today. She was happy to see me as I skipped up to the house. Her smile made me smile and that was all I needed. She comes into my room, all smiles gone and tells me that we are going for a ride. My older self tries to scream "NO!" but I go because I wanted to make her happy again. I'm pulled away again, taken to a field of nothing. The sky above me is the clearest blue with no clouds. The landscape is dry as bone but strangely furtile. Activity is all around as long as you look beyond the barren land. The wind whispers around my shoulders, distrubing strands of hair and pushing me in a direction towards a mountain in the distance. I start the trek towards it but stop. A whisper in my ear makes me turn around to nothing. A voice that I cannot understand on the surface but once it soaks into my spirit, I know the truth. My heart turns to ice and cracks. My eyes refuse to give up the tears that so long to be released. My body goes numb. I push on towards the mountain, past the creatures that give encouragment without words. I wont be taken again until I reach the mountain. The mountain with no discernable distance.

A dream. It keeps repeating.

Twenty and sunny.

Its bittersweet turning 20. Now I can say, "Yes, I am in my early twenties." For some reason that always sounded so distinguished to me. However, its hard to celebrate when for so long I didn't want to be here for this day. I was so close to the end that this continuing chapter, this extension to my story is something I want to hold dear but I am not so sure how to. The most I can do is be thankful for the fact that I am here. I am happy I didn't give up. I think it would have been the cruelest thing to do due to the fact that my birth was normal. Why don't humans fight to stay alive anymore? In fact, it can be said they fight to kill, not to protect. Isn't that what war is, the extinguishing of the enemy by any means possible? The miracle of birth is now so underrated in society and taken for granted by those who "accidentally" pop out a few kids. The lucky happenstance of a human coming to life is one we don't think about day to day. "I was born". That is something I have taken for granted for my entire life. What else am I missing out on? My purpose may not be set, my heart may not be captured, my eyes may not be entirely open but I am slowly coming to realize that for some reason, I was born 20 years ago and that is something I should never ever forget. I am here for a purpose, one I may not know yet or have realized but it is there.
Also, as I turn these numbers, I am starting to hear the whispering "tick, tock, tick, tock". The biological clock has started ticking and its already driving me nutts similar to poor Captain Hook's obssesion with the swallowed timepiece. Babies have become adorable, the idea of marriage dosn't make me shiver, seeing couples together and in love dosn't make me want to close my eyes and send a prayer of thanks up to the gods. Many don't beleive me that I have done a complete 180 in my thinking about the future, so I just don't tell them. It will be a surprise to them and to me what comes next and I am pretty sure that is how it is supposed to be.

Her Dream

The icy fingers of the wind were pulling her along towards the edge. Their strength grew as she struggled and pulled to stay on firm ground. With the grasping wind whipping around her ankles, she had no hope to break free until she got to the very edge of the cliff. Peering over the rocks, she saw a group of people waiting at the edge of the shore, beckoning her to join them. Her heart stopped as she recognized one of them. Her mother. Tears threatened to break as she tried to remember her true form, not the one she was seeing right now. Gone were the kind blue eyes and warm smile. Gone the tight embrace and soft spoken words. In its place was a closed woman of strange proportions. Hunched over and a terror of unspoken lengths, the woman was trying to get her to jump over the cliff that loomed before her. The tears pooled in her eyes and spilled like tiny buds on a blooming tree. Fearing the worst, she attempted to break the hold of the wind but couldn't move even one muscle, stuck in a limbo of time and fear. A rock slipped under her left foot and she stumbled onto her knees, staring at the woman she knew was her mother. Her heart pounded as she willed her mind to remember her devoid of the haze of disappointment, anger and regret. More tears fell as she glanced at the ground beneath her. The top of the cliff was covered in grasses and sprinkled with daffodils and she was staring straight into the center of a crushed bloom. Its petals strewn across the landscape, it silently mourned its passing and asked her why things happened this way. She paused and said "Because it has too. We all die. We all are moving on a wisp of wind that takes us wherever we must go and we have to let it. Fighting the push and pull of the wind will only make us more angry and disappointed in the things we don't let happen. Courage is the foundation on which we must move on." With that statement now floating on her path, she finally understood that the wind would mover her whether she tried to fight it or not. Letting go of her inhibitions, she jumped and fell.

Introduction to the Beast

She awoke to the quiet fall of snow on the already covered mountain. Her eyes slowly opened to reveal multiple pairs staring straight into her own. Tentatively sitting up, she asked him what everyone was staring at and he responded "You were dreaming out loud. Its something we never do and have never seen done before. You spoke of a world of heat and sand, great large animals moving across an enormous stretch of land. Where are you from?" The question itself instilled fear within her heart and a great sadness overcame her features, "I have no idea where I am from. That must have been my imagination, because I don't even know what sand looks like and I cannot remember for the life of me the feeling of heat on my skin." This made the group pause and shift at the same time. A tremor of curiosity accelerated through them and unspoken questions were flitting through their minds as they pondered the girl they had rescued. A few moments later, the assumed leader pulled her up and stared straight into her eyes, as if trying to read her soul. Fortunately, what he saw was appeasing and he released her and started to clean up the camp from the night before. They had been walking up the mountains for eight days now and she had no idea where they were headed. Her friend kept by her side and at any turn of trouble, he pushed her behind him and continued on. Their friendship had evolved to the point of comfortable silence and peace with each other. Although only a short time had passed and only one name was known between the two of them, their souls had been entwined from the beginning of time and had finally been merged. He called her "his little lontala" which he never explained the meaning.
The further they pressed into the mountains, the more her mind fogged over. Starting over from the age she supposed was 20 was more difficult than she had thought. Her whole life had been erased either on purpose or accident and she had no idea the occurance but she did remember one thing, piercing blue eyes filled with tears and a great unyeilding saddness. Those eyes haunted her and when she went to sleep, she tried to remember but nothing ever made sense within her dreams. There was always something trailing behind her, a great beast that never made it known that it was with her but was always there. Even during the day, she felt its prescense. Always following her, the great beast was the one constant in her life; a shadow that wasn't necissarily dark or ominous but at the same time a haunting reminder of her indistinct dreams. Where was the path she was following? Turning to her friend, she moved closer to his side and grasped his hand, the one place she felt safe and assured. The beast was still there, always watching and in a strange show, protecting her. They trugdged on through the mountains to the place of unknown qualities and small wings of hope began to flutter within her.

Pride mixed in with a stubborn twist.

I want a man in my life, but it seems no one is up for the job. Am I too intimidating for the ones of the opposite sex, who are supposed to be in my range? Do I laugh to loud, express my opinion too much, make stupid comments left and right? Yes, but shouldn't some one find that appealing? I promised myself a long time ago to never change for someone, and so far, I have kept to that bargain but damn does it get annoying. I want someone to want me. I need someone to need me. Can anybody find me someone to love? I guess, I have been listening to my itunes too much. I'm just bummed that this guy isn't interested in me. I mean I am but that dosn't mean he is. And I do have some pride when it comes to things like this so I am not going to be calling him every three days to see if maybe he would want to hang out. Also, I have a suspicious feeling he is avoiding me, which adds insult to injury but whatever. There are more fish in the sea, other mountains to climb (if you know what I mean) and all those other analogies that are supposed to make girls feel better but actually make them more aware of the fact that he is just not into you. Bummer man.

Our Star.

Around the star we dance.
Her brilliance is blinding.
Her beauty, everlasting.
Her core a part of us all.

Around the star we sing.
The sound hauntingly familiar.
Several different tunes, merged into one.
Multiple hearts of the same dust.

Around the star we smile.
Remember stories of old.
Love memories of hope and faith.
Turning to the future with courage.

She dances with us.
She sings along.
She smiles forever.
As we move, gently on.
Keeping her in our earthly hearts.

The imaginary backspace.

If it was a quill and parchment, there would be splotches and stains. Nothing permanently written, just scribbles of a confused mind and an even more confused topic. My first scientific research paper is obviously not going as well as I had hoped. What would the ancients have done? Paper was scarce and so was the ability to write. Did they make as many mistakes as I do now? When they found their ideas so jumbled did they continuously crumple up their work and start afresh? I would have killed about 70 trees by now if I was a philosopher trying to state my views of the revolving earth. Why does my generation make so many mistakes in life? Is it the fact that we have backspace buttons on our computer that we believe it will translate to reality? Do we think that if we fail a test, we can hit an imaginary "easy" button and start anew? If so, I fear for our future. Earlier this week, after a comeback to golf with my dad, he made a good point about our generation and the mistakes we make so often. His generation used typewriters, not Microsoft Word. Typewriters are as unforgiving as Medusa's stone turning stare. Even as I write this procrastination blog I am able to fix the mistakes I make in my typing. I notice that as I type, I go faster and catch the things I misspelled and if I don't, a thin red line appears to tell me "hey, come back, your spelling sucks." Does this mean I am a constant mistake maker in real life; that I beleive in the power of the imaginary backspace? Dont get me wrong. I am eternally greatful to the producers of the allmighty computer and the almost black hole like figure of the internet; however, I am also left in fear of what is becoming of my view on my own generation.
Letting go of things has never been easy for me, especially mistakes. Always being hard on myself, I turn the smallest hiccup into a huge disaster and before I know it, I am swimming in tears. Although I have learned that this practice is a waste of time and completely irrational, I feel as though letting go of my problems and giving them to a higher power is just like the imaginary backspace. All my problems will dissolve if I just let go. All will be well. Well if thats the case, higher power, can you please write my 12 page paper on oral traditions in archaeological sites by Tuesday? K, Thanks. I know this is cynicism and of course I will get it done. I have this inate knowledge that tells me everytime, I will get it done. No matter what. However, I also have this inate feeling of panic the moment the paper comes into conversation. The moment it rears its ugly and somewhat odd topic head, I tense up and get lightheaded. This is a paper of odd circumstance due to the fact that I chose the topic (Oh that is something I beleive that has to do with my odd self punishment issues) and the fact that its from a perspective of science which is not my forte. Its a mixture I beleive of love and hate. I wait for the last minute because I cannot wait to feel the excitment of preasure on my neck. The writing gods breathing on my neck, whispering words of encouragment and sticking an I.V of caffine into my veins on the night before it is due. Ah, the great world of college. This is what it comes down to. The idea that my generation is one of mistakes and imaginary backspace bars is true; however, we are also a generation of more hope and more ability to let it go. Give it up and know that you are smart. You have the brains, use them. More encouraging, at least that is what I think. Good grief. I could have finished my paper by now.