a) don't have crazy complexes too near my own,
b) give me a hint they're interested,
c) have a sleeve tattoo,
d) like the music I like (throwback shit),
e) can hold their shit together for more than five minutes
d) have something that I can grab onto (since I have some cushin' for the pushin')
f) can handle the things that I have that very well will be affecting me in the future.

I been ponderin' it a lot lately. It's been around 8 months since my last relationship, and I'm ready to start accepting applications for the position of significant other again. Yet, I'm going away again for the whole summer, and it doesn't do to get attached before/during summer because either I won't be able to give the person from Clarion/Western PA the full attention they deserve, or I won't be able to see the person from camp the whole year 'round. I thought the last time I went to camp the relationship I had before could withstand the distance, and that went down the fucking toilet when I got back.

Honestly, I write the hardest-to-follow posts in the world. I think it's kinda like a vignette of what's going on inside my head. And if I have a hard time following it, I can't even imagine what everyone else is thinking.

In other news, this semester needs to FUCKING END. And then DIE A FUCKING BLOODY ROTTEN DEATH. Whether I get my work turned in or not. That's all.


"And then you know there comes a time
You need her more than anything
You may believe yours are the wounds
That only she can heal
Then everything will turn around
And she becomes so serious
What she choose to offer you
Was all that you could have"

Yep. Good night.
 

1. Seeing SteveBoo and Mama Cass always relieves stress. I couldn't find two better friends, ever. I don't realize how much I miss them til I'm with them, which is a strange correlation. I wish F&M, IUP, and Clarion were all within a ten mile radius of each other. With all of the benefits of the varying regions included. I wish PA was as big as Delaware. It would make seeing my loves easier. I'm seriously about to follow blonde to grad school, no lie. 

2. Playing in the show was awesome. I miss performing, and if anything, I would like to do it more often. Specifically using my musical talents.

3. Finally starting to understand rugby is amazing. And I actually feel like perhaps I'm making ties with more people on the team than just Chelsea (no offense sweetheart you're super cute).

4. Spring spring spring spring spring SPRING! Skirts, sandals, river, outside, longer days, warmer days, flowers....everything is bliss.

Weird things:

1. Certain situations occurring lately have mixed up relations a little in my close group of friends. What I need to learn as a human being is that sometimes budding feelings need to die with the first frost. For now, instead of killing them outright, I'm stashing them in my box with the rest of my drugs to be enjoyed later.
          Aside----> Seeing the last person I actually enjoyed being in a relationship with on Saturday made things a little more complicated in that region. What does one feasibly do when the reason for a breakup is removed, and the people haven't necessarily changed for the worse? Don't breakup with someone for someone else if the first relationship was working out. For real for real, I probably would be living in iup married with kids right now. Distance, distance is always an issue, damn it.

2. Classes. I haven't exactly been as faithful with attendance as in previous semesters. I don't feel as invested anymore. I don't know if it's because graduation is creeping steadily closer, and I'm just over it all, but I do know that I need to buckle down and remember that I don't get the damn slip of paper if I don't go to class.

3. The job situation. I won't let them chump me out for less pay then I deserve. I would as soon stay in Clarion all summer. I'm the most marketable person at that camp, and this isn't my head talking, it's fucking fact.

Bad Things:

1. Lack of roommate or place to live next year. I need to get it together, and actually commit to somewhere and someone if I don't want to be stuck at Eagle Puke again.

2. The health. I'm worried, but I'm keeping my chin up. Shit will happen as it will.



So, still the good things outnumber the bad and weird. But isn't it funny that they always take precedence? I think I made the wrong choice, and I should have gone to Ireland next fall. Too late, too bad. When I really look around, there's not as much as I thought keeping me tied to this little university and town. But, since I chose to stay, I'm going to make the best of it.
At least Steveboat is sticking around for me to get into trouble with.

I'm over and out. This has been your tri-weekly dosing of my life. You're welcome.




 

I'm so in love with Patti Smith.And Molly. And women. 

I don't know what I am. It's hard to say. Read a story, bitch.

 

The House of Youth

            The old door took a good shove to get it open. It was so heavy that it felt like a new door had been forced into an old frame that was three times too small. The door finally flew open, swinging open into the living room, like a butler that continuously announcing the caller at the door. The door made a dull, scraping noise as it swung across the high green shag carpeting. Immediately upon entering the house the aroma of incense forced itself up one’s nostrils, the earthy scents of sandalwood and patchouli permeating the living room. There was no one in the living room except the dancing, curling smoke and the dominating image of Robert Plant that hung over the defunct brown-brick fireplace. Robert Plant stared out from the poster with wide eyes, a lazy smile adorning his lips, and a microphone cord that was frozen near to his head, as if time had stopped as he swung it around. In the ugly fireplace candles were lit, the flames of the slender tapers flickering fiercely as if they were trying to compensate for the absence of fire.

            A glossy black cat lied close to the candles, swinging its tail back and forth, looking up with yellow eyes that gleamed in the candlelight. At the sound of our footsteps, the cat jumped up and retired to the big couch that faced the fireplace.  The high-backed midnight blue couch had a bright tapestry slung over it; the bright yellows and blues seemed to emit more light than the windows, which were covered by old-fashioned curtains, lacey and faded. Next to the couch stood a low glass end table, strewn with candle wax and cigarette ash, stemming from the ashtray that overflowed with stale butts. Sitting on the table was a massive record player with a cracked lid, a record scratching away inside. Grace Slick wailed mournfully from the speakers, the melody dancing along primitively through the room along with the incense smoke.

            The sleek cat jumped up at a strident note and pranced out into the hallway, like the white rabbit running down the hole in the ground. The hallway it ran into was dimly lit, but the cracked paint on the walls was visible, and walking back the hall made the heavy smell of patchouli and sandalwood grow incredibly stronger. The massive incense burner itself stood at the end of the hallway, fragrant smoke pouring out from the lattice work carved into the handsome wood. There was a long rug running back the hall, dimmed from the ever-present smoke that hung like fog throughout the whole house. Depicted on the runner was a young, beautiful woman. She looked like a belly-dancer from a court of Saracens, her luxurious limbs reaching gracefully up to pluck an orange from a tree branch. Her mouth was smiling in absolute delight, like she concealed a delicious secret that only the tree was allowed to hear. On the wall, scrawled next to a singular dusty sconce was “This way to Phish town”, with a thick black arrow spray-painted under it.

            Following the intriguing arrow into the next room revealed another slogan splashed brilliantly across the wall: “All I want is food and creative love”. The aroma in the room was distinctly different than the sandalwood incense; the stench of overripe fruit filled the air, mixing with the smell of the week-old curry that sat in the sink. Coffee was brewing on the gray flecked counter, the steam from the pot rising up and spreading evenly over the ceiling like wave rolling into shore. Next to the coffee pot on the counter sat a vase, embellished with an amateur’s attempt at Raphael’s Cherubs painted upon it. The chubby cherubs looked languidly up at the dried roses, which were sticking out of the vase at unnaturally straight angles. The cat leisurely slunk into the room, looking up hopefully to be fed. Seeing quickly that he might have better luck with his mistress, he strolled into the room adjoining the kitchen. The door opened easily, and the cat slipped through the doorway, meowing plaintively. It seemed wise that we should follow.