There is a void. A hole in my chest. It doesn’t cease, it never breaks. I know what it wants, I know what it says. I hear it so clear, but it’s so far away.
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Be Thou My Vision
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Let’s take the moon and make it shine for everyone.
I really, really want to go on a camping trip soon.
I also wanted to find a live version of this song, but the only videos I could find were of concerts with lots of loud singing along in the background. A shame there’s not anything better out there.
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Ways I will make it through the summer.
Ways I will make it through this South Texas summer:
1. Buy lots of linen: Skirts. Shorts. Dresses. Just lots and lots of linen.
2. Hydration: Skin and body. Basically tons of iced tea. Always.
3. Air Conditioning: There are many people to thank for this modern miracle. Right now I prefer to give a little shout to my grandparents for footing this summer’s bill. Thank God I don’t have to.
4. Snow cone stands: Last summer I went on the prowl for Houston’s best, but this year I’m back in the country. The search is over. Every town, including Danbury, has at least one state of the art snow cone stand. Dreamsicle with cream, I love you.
5. SWIMMING POOL. I am blessed and lucky and completely and utterly thankful that my grandparents have a lovely pool with amazing lounge chairs. Hello, tan.
Bonus: Living 20 minutes from the beach. Having a summer job where shorts are allowed. Lone Star.
In the coming days, probably somewhere around noon-ish, I’ll go sit outside with my laptop and write a follow-up piece: Ways this morbidly hot Texas summer will kill me.
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It’s the last time we’ll fall in love.
I haven’t written in here in awhile. Honestly, I’ve just been too busy going out. Seeing friends. Pulling all those pieces that fell apart back together. I’ve finally started mending myself after a broken month, but lately I’ve just tired myself to delirium to try not to deal with life. I don’t know. Maybe I need a vacation. I could probably also use a bicycle.
Today I saved a third grader from the monkey bars. No joke. I walked out of my class with a small group of students and noticed some kids on the playground, a couple of them that I used to work with but aren’t in the program anymore. One called out to me and said the boy was stuck. He was scared to get down. I asked him to hang tight and that I would take my class where they needed to be and come right back.
Bound and determined, I knew I wouldn’t leave without getting him down (he was probably nine feet in the air). After about 10 minutes, I finally talked him into climbing down. It wasn’t a big feat. Nothing really major. But as I stood under those bars, finding anyway I could to try to get him to trust me, to make him believe I wouldn’t let him fall, I finally figured out that I was exactly where I needed to be, doing exactly what I needed to do.
You’ll understand.
Here you go.
If you look long enough, you can find some really good moments on YouTube.
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To whom it may concern:
I’m sorry I wasn’t exactly what you needed.
I’m sorry I never held back, controlled my feelings or played it cool.
I’m sorry that I sent too many texts or called too much. Or sometimes not enough. And that sometimes I backed off and sometimes I was too needy.
I’m sorry that I lied. I’m also sorry I told the truth.
I’m sorry for that night I drank too much and told you exactly how I felt, only to realize the next day that it wasn’t how I really felt at all.
I’m sorry I tried to control you. And then tried not to control you. And then went on to ignore you.
I’m sorry that I’m wishy-washy. And negative. And overly-positive. And that my hair isn’t long like it used to be.
I’m sorry for hiding everything I ever wrote about you or to you. I’m sorry for the pages and pages of letters you’ll never see. I’m sorry for the pages and pages of letters and prayers and journals that I tore up and threw away in the dumpster in Houston that I’ll never see. Again.
I’m sorry I deleted your e-mails. I’m also sorry that I didn’t delete your e-mails. And that I never gave back your shirts. And that you still have my pillow. And that I let you have the Wii.
I’m sorry that I never started my own actual record collection, but stopped buying with the plans on borrowing from your catalog. Forever.
I’m sorry I never went to see you. And I’m sorry you never came to see me.
I’m sorry I spent entirely too much money on that trip to New York. But I’m not sorry I actually visited New York.
I’m sorry that I don’t want to live in that city with you. Or have your children. Or settle down and be your wife. Because the truth is: I don’t even know if I want to get married at all.
I’m sorry that I’m sorry.
But really, I’m not sorry at all.
I’ve forgiven myself for all the things I could never do right. I’ve accepted the bad stuff. The shame. The guilt. The feeling that I could’ve done something better, because in the end, I’m exactly where I need to be.
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Hell, we’re all happy here.
I just don’t have much to say, so I’ll give an update:
My beach weekend in Galveston turned out to be an incredibly relaxing (no one died) and fun time (as expected), only to come back to a chaotic Monday. It’s not a bad thing, though. Just proves that life is life. Real and ever-changing.
I’ve applied for a ridiculous amount of jobs this evening; five or so different school districts, only to not actually complete a single application. (They all need essays and resumes to attach, which I’ll do on my conference tomorrow.)
In the meantime, my sunburn has turned to tan and my legs are no longer white. One summer goal completed. But, I’m still a little weary of the dreaded peeling part. And for all of you that no longer live in South Texas: Yes, mosquitos are back and in full-force. I have entirely too many bites to prove it.
Oh, AND my grandpa woke me up at 6 a.m. to discuss the previously mentioned trip to Oklahoma this morning. I guess he just can’t stop thinking about it so I think we’ve settled on an early June trip. It struck me as odd that he decided he HAD to tell me right at that moment, but then I remembered that I live with two 70-somethings.
Some things are expected to happen: basketball on TV, 6 and 10 p.m. news, Jay Leno and bed time right after. Others like 6 a.m. pow wows and my dog and gramps ACTUALLY getting along were a little less anticipated, but hell, we’re all happy here.
Now that I’ve found a place where I can breathe.
I’ve quit measuring things in weeks, months and years. Or at least when it comes to discussing hardships. No longer will I make New Years’ resolutions or think about how bad of an age 24 turned out to be. Bad things will always happen. There will always be break-ups, flat tires, stolen phones, alarms that don’t go off and on and on and on.
It’s just the rough patches that life hands us. The patches that make us figure out who we really are.
For me, I keep looking up and moving onward. I will wake up the same way I did the day before. Eyes open, breathing deep while I brush my hair out of my face. I’ll pet my dog. Roll out of bed and take what the day hands me with the ability to drop all the bad things at the end of it and just be a human. A happy, breathing, blinking human.
In the meantime, this razor phone’s alarm blows. Especially when you have to walk into a classroom full 8th graders 15 minutes after you wake up.
Maria Taylor live. A good song to describe where I’m at. Finally.
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Baby, I was faking the whole time.
I have so much to write, but the better part of me is more tired than ever.
There are some big things coming up ahead. My grandpa asked me to take a road trip with him to visit his great-aunt in Grove, Oklahoma to interview her and write a book about the Woods family. I’m really excited about this. Excited to grab my camera, my recorder and just take a weekend to get away, get back to my (apparently VERY Cherokee) roots and sit out at her house perched on the bank of Grand Lake.
As for everything else, I’m finally running, working on knitting my wonderful blanket and staying as busy as possible.
Uhm. This weekend was hilarious. Facebook has some wonderful proof of that.
As for now, just listen.
And on the contrary:
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Small towns.
Dear everyone,
I feel like I’m going to throw up on my shoe.
Signed,
Melissa
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