The Crashing Waves of Ocean

Confusion crashes into my mind like waves on a rock hitting hard for a moment, slowly drawing back before hitting me again. I am not unlike that rock, the waves slowly caressing me and molding me into what I will someday become. I don’t pretend to understand the logic of making a solid choice and sticking with the decision, all the while doing exactly the opposite. The touch of the wave is all I feel. I have become a walking contradiction. I know not what to do about my current situation, but know that I am enjoying the chaos immensely. I wake each day with the realization of my tribulations fresh in my mind, having only added to them the previous day. I contemplate all aspects of my choices and the wisdom or lack of wisdom in the actions I have taken. “Actions do speak louder than words.” My friend Cindy told me the other night. “What do you want?” She asked me. “I’m not sure.” I replied. “What do you want to do right now?” A smile came over my face and I looked longingly across the room. “So there is your answer.” She smiled. “So what’s the hold up?” She asked over her shoulder as she walked away. Some friends mean well, though it seems that others only delight in pointing out the obvious. She is one of those friends. My world continues to spin in several directions. I am on a path of self-discovery and at the same time seeing the universe through the eyes of someone who has never experienced any of it. The world is suddenly new and fresh and scary. I step away for a while, close my eyes, and everything goes quiet my world is normal for a moment. Then I open my eyes and look for it again, warm, desirable, and tantalizing. It suddenly flips a switch in my head and plays a video clip of crashing waves flashing in my mind. I am no longer seeing the world in front of me, but the private movie filmed just to torment me. I really do love the movie, though it brings a smile to my face at the most inappropriate times. It makes me wish I was better than I am. I hang on every second trying to burn every detail and feeling into my memory, knowing full well it too will become a flickering light in my mind. Then I leave and part ways again. The smell fades away, and I can hear only my heart and the sound of my breathing. I am driving again. I have become enamored. I am crazy and mad for it. I am still starving, perhaps more than before. I wish now only for clarity, but know it will not come to me. I long for some semblance of normalcy, and fear I will never feel it again. I have begun to fear slipping over the drop and yet want it with all of my being. I hear the question again. “What do you want to do right now?” I believe holding back has become harder than moving forward. The waves crash upon me and I feel the sea touch my skin. I hear my heart again and the slow rhythm as my chest rises and falls with each new breath. The waves crash again.

My Cat Has a Lack of Problems

The sun has been out every day, and the spring flowers are growing in my garden already. I can feel the world warming up for summer. The light streams in my window falling on my sleeping eyes in a beam of warmth. I smile to myself, enjoying the gift sent to me through the glass. I pull the blanket over my shoulder and scrunch my toes up. I don’t want to get out of bed. My room is chilly and the blankets warm and soft like a cloud of safety wrapped around me. My alarm clock crashes the fuzzy silence and sends a shock through my body as I bolt upright to reach for the piercing noise. Falling back into the pillow I rub my eyes and look at the clock on my phone. It is time again. A new day starts, and it will not wait for me. My feet slide out of the covers and onto the blue carpet. Even the carpet is cold. My cat sits on the end of the bed purring in the sun, teasing me with her lack of responsibility. She knows all she has to do today is sit on her fat furry ass and enjoy my bed. On tip toe I run through the garage to the laundry room on the cold cement. I grab yesterday’s uniform out of the dryer. The cold of the garage clings to my silky robe as I hurry for the bathroom. I flip the heater on before my fingers even try to find the light switch. I go through my ritual every morning, getting dressed, brushing my teeth and hair, putting on some eye make up so I don’t scare the customers. All I want to do now is go back and sleep in the sun next to my lazy cat. She has it made. I would trade her places if I could today. But instead I start a bath for my daughter and flip the coffee machine on. Sitting at my computer for a moment I do a little writing while Nicole is taking her morning bath. I stop every few minutes to toss some waffles in the toaster, or hand my child a towel. I eat a bagel or a piece of toast and get ready for my day. I just want to go back to bed and ignore the world, but I have to get going, its time to drop Nicole off, and go to work again. Today I really envy my cat.

Our Addiction to Chaos.

In the summer I spend a lot of time in the woods, camping, hiking, and rafting. I was raised to respect every living thing right down to the smallest grasshopper and blade of grass. I was taught to always leave a place the way I found it, never leaving a trace that I was there, never polluting things for future travelers. “Always take everything you have brought with you when you leave.” I was told. “Never leave behind anything harmful, or ugly.” This was the lesson I learned as a child from my elders. So I walk lightly, and carry things out with me. But is it enough? Every time I take a step, a mark is left. Every time I lay in the grass, I kill the very thing I am enjoying. The more I do these seamlessly harmless things the more I realize that I am leaving an irreversible mark. The trails I leave will eventually grow over if I stop visiting this spot, but under the fresh grass my trail will remain embedded in the dirt below. The grass where I laid will never grow as tall. I just wonder if all I need to do to destroy a place is to simply be there. Perhaps it is true, that we are just a plague on the earth, consuming everything in sight. Maybe it is our nature to do so, and if so I am challenging the very instincts that make me who I am. Why do we keep doing things that we know are harmful to the little worlds around us? Is it greed? Is it instinct, or addiction? Is it just sheer stupidity? And why if we know it isn’t helping the things around us can we not simply stop? The answer is simple, but slightly disturbing for me. We keep on our destructive path because we want to deep down inside. We crave the chaos of the destruction that is created when we venture into uncharted territory. I believe that most people think that they are basically in control of the world around them. I have recently been reminded that this isn’t so, and we are all just living in a popular delusion. We may not see the damage we do, or the little things we leave behind, but we continue on our destructive path just the same. We are too close to a situation to see the truth. We will hurt only ourselves in the end. The destructive behavior needs to end some time. The problem is like any other addiction. We tell ourselves that one more time won’t make a difference at this point. And the next time becomes the same, and soon you are in a repetitive pattern that is becoming out of control. The only thing to do is to wean yourself, and this usually only ends in more procrastinating, or just simply quit. Stop the behavior in its tracks. Resist the urges day by day not to connect with that pattern of the mind. In short you basically have to rearrange your whole life, and the schedule you have made for your self. But the most basic part of addiction, and repetitive patterns is this: the fact that I really like what I do and don’t want to stop.

A Justified Reason to Continue Therapy

What else could there possibly be? I mean really? There are so many coincidences in life, that I have just dismissed them as funny things that couldn't mean anything. I'm starting to wonder seriously about these odd signs. These signs, or similarities have always been things that I see in my life that mean something to me. But, it is no longer random, and seems to happen almost every time I set and talk face to face. (Talking face to face is a recent discovery of mine that happens to be very good stress therapy for me). But back to the subject at hand.
What else could I find that is so similar in my own odd life, how many more things are there really? At first I questioned weather the things I was seeing were there because I wanted them to be, or if they were simply there because they were truly there. I even had myself believing that I was manifesting these strange parallels. But after a short therapy session I realize that it's just not me. So how many more are there? I think there is only one way to find out.
Keep having the face to face therapy at least once a week, (In the name of Self Education)and see if there are more similarities that I need to explore. After all, it could be worth it in the end, to finally become whole again. And I sure like trying.

Waking up from WHY

My intentions were clear to begin with, but all at once they are as clouded as the ashen waters of the river. Now it seems that I constantly question myself, remind myself, and ask myself one word, (WHY). Why do I do this? Why have I done that? Why can't I figure things out? Why do I cry one day and laugh the next? Why do some days seem familiar, while others feel completely alien. Why did I make this choice, or that? Why do I try when I don't know if I want to? Why do I live this many lives in one day? Why can't I just be oblivious to the world, and keep this little existence the way it is never knowing there are better things out there? Why do I dare to dream of something that is likely to fade out of my life like the sun setting into the sea? Most nights to find the answer I take a short vacation in a wine bottle. Others I write like a secretary gone mad at the keyboard until my fingers ache. I run by day for miles along the river, pushing myself until I am near passing out and can no longer breathe. I find myself in the same place after all my efforts to will a strait answer out of my mind.
It hasn't come yet, though several times I have thought it was finally there. Then I blink and the light shatters into darkness, and then the darkness fades back into light. The world is upside down and spinning in the wrong direction. I feel as though I am dangling by one hand, searching for a strong foothold that will take me to the safe ledge, and each time I get a toe hold, the rock crumbles and I slip even further. Perhaps I need to just let go, and see where the falling journey leads. Perhaps I should just hang on a little longer and find my place to step. The internal battle rages on, and the war between the two sides is brutal. There will be no prisoners, and no negotiations between the two sides, for they can never co-exist on the same plain of existence. One will become the victor, and the other the victim. I am faced with a hard truth, and only I know that it even exists. How can something that no one in the whole world even knows it exists become so vital?
I have begun to see things differently. Physically seeing things differently. The air is more crisp, the sounds more sharp. The tiny details that escape my glance on a normal day stand out in my eyes. I am no longer comfortably numb. The drug of monotony has worn off and the pleasure and pain is not dulled any longer, but sharp as a razer. It seems that I am not sleepwalking through my life anymore. The autopilot has been switched off. And now I must navigate the roads on my own.
Now I am back at Why? And driving strait to HOW?

A Favorite Piece: Out of the Dark

Excerpt:
“Jesus! It sounds like nails on a chalk board!” Steve thought as he looked over at the two small bodies laying on the cold damp earth. The constant scrape of the shovels in the dirt and rock was rather unnerving. It was sending chills up his spine and making all of the hair on his arms stand on end. “Maybe it isn't just the sound of those damn rusty shovels scrapping the rocks that's giving me the willies,” He thought to himself as he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his patrol jacket. “What if it's them?” The voice of a child slowly whispered. The voice was like a cold knife scratching in his head. It wouldn't go away. It was in the back, throbbing in his brain, repeating its question over and over. He watched as the other two deputies shoveled the dark rocky soil out from under the leafless oak tree. The moonlight shone through the branches giving the three men just enough light to see the gaping hole they had dug at the tree's base. The hole was almost finished and as far as Steve was concerned, it couldn't be done and over with soon enough.
“This should do it Boss.” Dave said as he tossed his shovel aside. “Seven feet deep is good enough for government work if you ask me.” Devin nodded at them both. “There's no use in going deeper, no one will ever find them out here. I say we finish this shit and get the hell out of here!” “Well, lets just keep our shit together, and get this done.” Steve hissed.
Dave and Devin heaved the two limp bodies down into the cold dark earth and grabbed their shovels. Down in the hole the two little creatures were facing each other, foreheads touching as though in a peaceful sleep. "They look so innocent!" Devin spat at the two little figures lying in the hole. The only sign of life was the faint mist coming out of their noses and the slow rise and fall of their doll sized chests. “Well, looking innocent won't help you now!” He said dryly to the two unconscious children. He was glaring down at the two petite figures with raw malevolence in his eyes. Steve was sure the cold wasn't getting to Devin like it was getting to him. Nothing but fire and hate in those eyes. Since Devins little brother Buck was killed there's been nothing short of steam coming from Devin. Steve looked at the bodies one last time, and pitched a shovel full of dirt down into the hole. The three men worked quickly and silently not looking at each other, not wanting to pierce the silence of the night for fear of waking the two demented creatures below. They packed the earth with their shovels and raked some leaves and twigs over the fresh dirt and rock. It had only been six hours since the plan began, and now it was completed. The three men stood silently staring at the ground before them.
“I feel like we should say something.” Steve breathed. There was no response from the two other officers for so long, that Steve began to wonder if he had imagined saying it. Finally Dave whispered, startling Steve a little. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me in the paths of righteousness, For his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.........

For the Love of a Thrill

One of my favorite things to do in the summer is Kayaking. I usually only go on the river, I crave the adrenaline rush that the lakes don't give me. It starts out slow, and at times the water can get a little choppy. I can pull into beaches here and there and take a little rest, enjoy the sun or explore for a while. The thing that I like about it the most is the fact that you have to be strong, and skilled in order to do it well and not end up in the water. Last summer I had to rescue a teenage girl who was sitting in front of a huge drop in her enter tube. I didn't notice her at first, a lot of teenagers float down the river, but then I saw that she was totally freaked out and crying. I pulled up to her against the current that was pinning her to a large bit of cement and re bar, and asked if she needed any help. Her friends had left her, she couldn't swim, she had no life jacket, and she was wearing tennis shoes. All very bad news for a hundred pound girl who has never been on a river before. Kids are pretty stupid sometimes. The particular bit of re bar and cement that she was pinned against has a nasty current that sucks things under it and traps it there. Several people have died in the very spot she was floating in. Had she gotten off of her tube and tried to make a go of it on her own, I think she would have ended up dead. So I threw her a rope, had her tie it around her self, and tried as hard as I could to pull her out of the huge death trap. She was hard to pull against the current, like dead weight behind me. It took several tries to pull her out of the re bar, but finally after about thirty minutes, I managed to pull her free and swing her around to the beach. I never saw that girl again. I was being dragged down over the drop, and she was still tied to me. I quickly cut my rope, and leaned into the current I was now stuck in. I always avoid that drop since it is so dangerous, usually taking the fork that goes to the left. This was my first time going over it, and I was not prepared. The current pulled me under for a moment, and I managed to flip myself over again. What seemed like hours, was really only seconds. I finally made it to calm water, but breathing hard, heart pounding in my chest, and not believing what I had just done, I pulled over to the beach. I climbed out of my kayak, limbs feeling like rubber, and laid on the sandy beach to rest. I don't know how long I was there just breathing on the sand and looking at the sky and making my thanks to a higher power. Sometimes the river takes hold of you and pulls you in the direction it wants, and no amount of paddling can change the direction you end up going. I have learned that in a time like that, all you can do at that point is smile in the face of danger, and give it all you have, and try to enjoy the ride.

The Mad Ramblings of a Serious Wine Drinker

I'm sitting here drinking my favorite wine that my friend gave to me. It is Honeywood 1986 (the logan berry flavor) yummy. And pondering the things that a drunk mind ponders, such as the heat that I can feel in my legs from the wine. Its a nice warm feeling, I wish I could share. Jolene my friend who brought me the wine, told me last night, that I would be many things in my life, but alone wasn't going to be one of them. I fear being alone very much. I feel alone a lot, though there have been days recently that I haven't. I have people I talk to, some alot more than others, some I tell things to that no one knows. I have a select few people who really know what is on my mind most of the time. Though I keep alot to myself with all of them. I guess I hold things back for fear of people knowing how I really feel. I don't understand why everyone has such an interest in me and my life. Sometimes I think I am the only person who feels the way I feel right now, I honestly don't know how some of the people in my life feel about what is going on. It would be great to know, but at the same time, I haven't shared my feelings with anyone else, so I have no right to ask it of them. I am just at a point where things have to change, and very soon, but the guilt of hurting slows my hand and the axe waits a little longer to drop. But it will drop soon, and everything will become red for a while. I am not eager to see everything I have worked for sink into the changing sea of life. My mother told me once that some things need to die for others to live, and someone else told me that "God never closes a door with out opening a window somewhere". I don't know if I have found the window, or if I ever will, but a door is closing, and a chapter is ending. I can only hope that the light I see is my window, and that it doesn't close before I can make my way to the light. What comes next is a complete mystery to me. So for now, I ride the waves, numb from the cold and alone until the tides bring back the warmth that has given me hope.

An Intentional Change of Characteristic Mind Patterns

A new concept came to me today, and it all started out in a rather funny way.

"When you get to the second stop light, make sure you turn right." My boss said as she handed me the night deposit bag. "Okay." I said and headed out the door. I didn't give much thought to her comment until I got to my car. "Why would she tell me to turn right, its not like I don't already know how to get to the bank."I thought. I started my truck and pulled out of the parking lot. I drove across the over pass and into town. I went through the first light with out thinking about it, but when I got to the second stop light, I found myself pondering her comment. “I could go strait, that would take me to the Freeway, and I could go right, to the bank.” I thought. The realization that I had about twelve thousand dollars in my lap hit me like a truck at that moment. It became clear, I could keep going, and never look back, at least not for a long while, or I could turn, take the money to the bank, and do the "Right" thing. Before I knew it I was sitting in front of the bank. There was no way I could have done it. But the fact that she even mentioned it, proved to me in that one second that she had done her thinking on the subject as well.

The thought of going strait and to the freeway would never in a million years entered my mind, unless it was put there.

I wonder how many of the choices we make are influenced this way, with out our knowing. It could be a random comment, or bit of data put into our minds by the sub conscience or worse another person. This could be a potentially terrible power if someone could knowingly put ideas into someone's mind and get results in the form of uncharacteristic actions. I'll have to try it and see if it is possible. I will write back on the subject soon.......

Wishing to Share My Intoxication With a Friend

I went to my Father's Island last weekend. It was just me and my daughter. The beauty of the place is surreal. In every direction you can look there is a picturesque scene just asking to have it's photo taken. Everything is beautiful and graceful there, like the way the madronna trees crawl up the rocks baring their orange skin and feet like fire trying to escape the sea. Or, the vast fields surrounded by old growth timber where the deer meet in mass each morning before the blanket of fog has lifted from the grass. The way there is a perfect and completely new sunset each night as the sun rests on the edge of the ocean. I have always thought those Islands to be the most romantic place I have ever stepped foot. You can become drunk on the sights that are all around you. There is a calmness about the life up there. It reminds me of the song “Sittin at the Dock of the Bay”. The whole time I was there, I kept thinking to myself, “My friend would love this.” I was intoxicated by the stars and drank in every sight like it was last call. I would have loved to share that place, perhaps in another life. So I am back in the lap of reality again, if only for a while.

Looking for the Agate

I remember the air was warm the day I found the agate on my father's beach. I must have been ten or twelve. I saw it from a distance and ran to touch it in my hands. It was almost perfectly round, and smooth as a marble. Instantly I believed I had found a pearl. I was so excited and ran to show someone. I was informed by my father that it was an agate, and not a pearl. “Throw it back, there are a hundred like it.” He told me. I was crushed, but did not throw it back. Instead I put the rock in my pocket and took it home. I cherished my pebble, and still believed it was a pearl, my father was wrong. I kept the pebble until I was about fifteen in a leather pouch I wore around my neck. It was cold the day I lost it, ironically on the same beach that I had found it on in the first place. The wind blew that day, and the waves crashed. I was putting on my coat when I believe it was lost. But when I got home the pouch was torn, and my agate gone. I waited to be alone before I cried over the lost rock. I cried for the pebble they told me was like all the rest, but I had held it close to me for a time, and it was mine. I felt its weight gone and was aware of the loss for a very long time. I will always look for that pebble every time I visit that beach. I can still feel how smooth the surface was, and the weight of it around my neck. It was special to me and me alone. I care not the fact that no one understood. I miss the agate all the same. So maybe someday I may yet find my special pearl, pluck it from the sea, and call it my own. Until then, I will just keep watch as I walk the beach.

A badly needed visit with my childhood.

It is the first memory I have. I was being carried over my mothers shoulder in the dark of night to a large brown house that was across the street from ours. She banged on the door, handed me to someone, and they set me down. I sat in the entry way on a linoleum slab playing with lego's. I have no idea how long I was there. I could ask my mother and she could probably tell me exactly how long I was there. I know that it was in the month of April, I know that I was two years old, and I know that I played with lego's in a brown house in a front hall. (I remember the lego's well, especially the little green trees.) I have a photo of myself the very next day, holding my newborn baby sister. She was named after my great Auntie. Her name was Afton. From that moment on I had a friend, a companion, and an accomplice. She was someone to confide in when I was afraid to talk to my parents, she was someone to hold on to when I was scared at night, and she was someone to blame things on when I did something wrong. She was my sister and we were best friends. When I was six, and she was four we used to sneak into a nearby corn field, and steal corn on the cob and eat it raw next to a huge oak tree until we were sick. When she was six, and I was eight, we ran off a babysitter so terrible and cruel that I can hardly believe my mother ever hired her. She was mean, and she had to go. So we plotted against the evil witch that inhabited our lands. We would make longdistance calls, and leave the phone off of the hook for hours. We would hide from her for hours in our secret places while she screamed in anger and fear. We would move things around in our parents room and take things that children wouldn't want. Finally she was gone, and all was well in our kingdom. We were a team my sister and me. And we saved each other that summer. Summer was always the best, we lived in the huge lilac bush in our yard from the begining of spring, until all the leaves were gone from it. We spent countless hours building forts and keeping our treasures there. We would have slept in the tree like monkeys but Mom wouldn't let us. To this day I believe lilacs are still her favorite, for they are mine. I love my sister with all of my heart and keep her secrets as she keeps mine, buried where the X is. I wonder if she remembers the X and the burried treasure? We were eight or nine then. Most of the happy memories of my childhood have my sister in them, my first memory is about her, and I wouldn't be who I am with out her. She is stronger than she thinks, I couldn't do what she does. She thinks I am the stronger one, but if someone put me in her shoes, I would crack. Yet, somehow, she stays in one piece. I will see her tomorow, it has been six months since the last time. I can't wait to hold my boys, and she can't wait to hold her Nicky. She only had boys, and I one girl. She desperately wanted a girl, so I let her claim mine as her own, as she lets me call her boys mine. They are so amazing. I love them as they were my own flesh, my Bug, and my Haylen. They are both so smart, and remind me so of my sister as a child. I can hardly wait to step off of the boat and see their big smiles as they run into my arms. (Mental note to self: Bring Camera this time!)

Auditory Breath

I never gave much thought to the influence a sound or a smell can have on you. Sounds create a certain feeling or trigger a memory. Sounds inspire movement and create moods. Sounds can bring back a moment in time, or completely make a new one. A moment or a feeling can be enhanced or deteriorated due to a sound and its effects on a person or people. Auditory senses are usually taken for granted in my everyday life, and then,
I stop.
I listen.
I close my eyes, breathe in the moment and feel everything that comes with the sounds and smells around me. It is strange to think a sound or smell can alter and influence a mind and its perception of the things happening. First is the sound, then the reaction then action. Then there is smell, which also has the same effects as sound. A smell can have just as much power as a sound. Then put the two together, and the sounds and smells begin to work together to weave intricate feelings and memories into your brain. The memories with sound and smell are richer and fuller, they have more grit. If you pay close attention I believe the memory will not loose its origional luster as quickly as a memory born of action alone when there is more than one sensory element involved.
Time is a bandit who steals things away before we even know they belong to us in the first place. By diving in to the moment with all of our senses, by drinking in each smell, and bathing in the sounds we can in effect grasp tighter to the moments time will take from us.
The little moments in that are there and gone in the blink of an eye can live a longer life in the mind if you simply touch each and every aspect of a moment with your senses. I think I will take more time to notice the sounds and smells, take more time to breathe in life and listen to time and the beat it dances to.

I feel alive tonight, perhaps it will last a while.

A preceived question of who I really am.

How do you ever truly know another person. To not perceive who you think they are, but to see them for what they really are. I have always watched, studied, and drawn my conclusions from random information shared through the connections between myself and others. Collecting bits of information about them through their body language, speech, eye contact and over all presence. I believed myself to be very good at judging a persons character. But then there was a question posed to me recently. How do I know that I am responding to the information I am receiving about them correctly. How do I know that they are the person I believe them to be. So to solve my posed question, I asked another.

Is there anyone in the world who really knows who I am? Will anyone ever really know me. Or will I only give them the outer shell. Like a deep sea creature with a beautiful shell. But what lies beneath the shell? I think everyone has a shell, a front, a cover, a mask. A positive self, being projected from within, filtering out all the things they believe they need to hide. A perfect view of what they want to be seen as.

So I ask myself. Do I project my shell. The answer is Yes, I do that. Not a huge realization I know, but still to go beyond the shell and truly show myself. To bare my soul, expose the secret side, let loose the caged beast within is both terrifying and wonderful at the same time. There is only one answer. I have to know who I am, and so I will do my best to accurately portray myself through the written word. This will cancel out any misconceptions through someone else's perception.

Who am I? I am a twenty nine year old woman. I am both shy and outgoing all at the same time. I love to laugh and to make others laugh. I constantly worry about everyone else, sometimes forgetting to take care of myself. I always try to see things on the bright side, and am great at solving everyone's problems but my own. I have many sides to my personality, including a very dark side that I usually allow no one to see.
There is the Mother, the caring understanding and patient teacher. She is never irresponsible, and would do anything for her child. She is snack mom during T-Ball season and arranges play dates on rainy days when her little girl is bored. She tells stories and sings songs and plays games with her favorite person in the world, her daughter. She is the person who can sit in an uncomfortable chair holding her sleeping child while her legs fall asleep and think about nothing but the way her child's hair lays across her head. She is the one with the warehouse of patience and ocean of love. She works two shitty jobs to make extra money. She is the one who gives up her necessities so her child can have every luxury. She is the strong one who holds steadfast to reason because insanity and weakness are not an option. She is the one who must never fail to do the right thing.
There is the Student, the young girl who craves new and interesting things to learn. The one who can't stand in one place long because she has taken in everything around her and is ready for more. She dreams of seeing the world, and all it has in it. She is the explorer and adventurer. She is the scientist who used to keep jars of bugs under her bed so she could watch them as a child. She is the girl who reads four or five books at the same time, and then runs out and decides to write new things to occupy her mind. She is the one who writes in a dream journal every morning, and tries to write one poem every week. She is shy and quiet at times preferring to take a watch and wait stance. She is the one who would go to school for the rest of her life, just to learn. She sees things under the surface that no one else ever notices. She is the one who gets lost in the book store for six hours when it has four or five rows of books.
There is the Dancer the one who feels life through her skin. The music lover who can't help but move to each new beet. She loves the night and the energy that comes from the crowds and their moving bodies. She is the one who isn't shy, she takes what she needs for the dance to keep the fun moving. She is the one who likes to be looked at and admired. She is the one who moves to the front of the line because she can. She can be a little vain. She lives only for the now, with not much consideration of what comes out of her mouth and its effects. She has many friends and knows everyone's names. She is the hunter who isn't afraid of going after the most rare of species. She is the confident one.
There is another, she is most complicated, she is pure feeling. She holds love as the most important of all and keeps hate buried. She loves fiercely like a fire out of control. She is the one who is capable of making the biggest mistakes, but also the greatest triumphs. She is the one who doesn't settle and holds steadfast to hope.
There is only one more, and she is in the back of the shell. I don't let her out except into books. I keep her to myself.
So now there is no perception conflicts between truth and assumption.
This is who I am.