S.P.E.W.

Wow. I'm a little tired of Scott, of Tanner, of Ex's in general. Of memories resurfacing about how things fall apart. I'm tired of men, of mankind. I'm tired. I try so hard to keep it together, but sometimes it feels like bulimia; you try and keep it all together, to create this good appearance, and it backfires.... literally. Eventually it just all explodes out of you, causing a real mess. I've thought about bulimia quite a bit lately. I've contemplated being bulimic. It sounds pretty easy. It's seems like a pretty simple recipe.

3 cups low self esteem
2 cups unhealthy comparison
7 heaping spoonfuls of schoolwork
1 lb. chopped stress
2 tbs. of my own expectations
2 tsp. the expectations of others.

Combine ingredients in a large human soul, bake at an average lifestyle for 20 years, and voila! I'm skinny! My family wouldn't comment on my weight anymore, I'd get more dates, I wouldn't feel so fat in dance class, and my thighs wouldn't jiggle uncomfortably. I'd never fear shopping for jeans again!
Seems like a pretty cool equation, right?
Girl+Food=Fat, but Girl+Food-Food=Not Fat.

Then I think about the x factor in that equation. Let me show you what happens when you multiply this equation by x. It's simple algebra, really.
(Girl+Food-Food)x=malnutrition, tooth decay, permanent throat damage from regurgitated stomach acid, etc.
Yeah, that etc. is an algebraic function.

There's always that 'x' factor in life. That thing that just keeps you from completing something. You're on the edge of victory, of glory, of accomplishment, of disaster, and it pulls you back, or trips you at the finish line. Take it for what you will.

I wish I had more self-confidence. I wish I was more honest about who I was. I don't know that I'm completely my honest self right now, because I'm utterly sleep deprived and emotionally strained, but I'd like to think that the sad and worn out parts of me are just as honest and the cheerful and loving ones.

Sometimes I'd like a little more recognition. Someone to just come up to me, genuinely, out of the blue, no-nonsense and no angle, and just tell me they love me. Not because I'm sad, or because I look or sound like I need it, but because they care. 100% they just love me. They're not trying to gain my affection, or a pat on the back, or a compliment in return. They just care about me.
I guess I should do that for other people, then.

The truth is, sometimes all that the bulimic people need is a hug.

Estrella

 Reclining on my somewhat-nicely made top bunk bed,
 I'm looking at a poster, tacked up on the wall next to me.
It's a poster from NASA of photos taken by the
Hubble Space Telescope.

Eighty-one different photos of light being transmitted from a
Billion Trillion miles away. I feel a little awe-struck that the human
Race has managed to capture these resplendent creations of
God, and we barely recognize that it's Him.

There is one photo in particular that keeps yanking my eyes
Back to it. Innumerable stars are beaming in this photo. They
Appear as minuscule yellow and white dots in a two-inch square.
It's like watching a million fireflies in a jam jar,

Or like taking a cross-section of a firework.
It's unfortunate and strange to me that these infinite bursts of
Photons are contained by a flat box with thin, yellow walls.
But they're not contained, really.

They're free. They are eruptions of light in unconfined and
Infinite space. Clearly, their light has no limit, because their
explosion of light was powerful enough to travel across the
Universe and find it's way onto my bedroom wall.

I'm yearning to join them.
My heart is pounding and all I want is to run to the edge of the
Earth, and with one flying leap, hurl myself into the black
Abyss of Space and explode into unrestrainable light.

There is a pull in my chest to combust into a
Thousand gigantic beams of blindingly Golden and Breathtaking
light and illuminate the surrounding Darkness.
To Emit light is not strong enough. No, this has to be something
Powerful, something with enough force to ricochet and repercuss.

And maybe, If I explode large enough,
My own light will find its way onto a piece of my
Bedroom wall.

Do I Get a Nickname?

"A heart disrupted frees the mind".

Let's play "Would You Rather..."
Would you rather give Obama a back massage, or lose a leg?

I'd rather kiss Satan than make the top bunk.
But for some reason, I find that I'm making the top bunk most mornings.
Ah well, C'est la vie.

Would you rather have a sound heart or a sound mind?

Just a simple question.
Apparently they're mutually exclusive events.

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I remember clearly the day that I started biting my nails. It's a bad habit that I'm still trying to kick to this very day.
I was 8 or 9, and I remember our family had just knelt down in the living room to say family prayers for the night. As we proceeded to get settled into the worn out carpet, I remember my mother reprimanding my brother, the middle child, and telling him to stop biting his nails.
Now, to a 9-year-old, anything your older brother does is cool. When your mother disapproves, it's twice as cool. So, I gave it a whirl. I started biting my nails and it was a habit that never completely went away.
It didn't really help that my piano teacher told me to keep my nails short. It just justified my behavior.
Now I bite my nails when I'm nervous and not thinking about it. Like in a test, or something.
Sometimes I wonder if  I want to stop biting my nails.

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How's your garden? I'm curious if your flowers have bloomed yet.