Please God. Let me go on that road trip!

It's good to talk to people from the past. They bring me back to earth and help me refocus my ambitions--I need more ambitious friends.

It's time to research and get down to business. No more fucking around.

"From the get-go Artie & Tina's drama has been more serious as opposed to the superficial stuff of fighting over leads in glee. I think that's the good thing about the show -- we portray the different kinds of relationships. I feel like Artie & Tina are the Cory & Topanga of Glee. They’ll always be together." Kevin McHale

Even when I'm at the edge of bitterness, when I'm ready to just give up, I can't. I'm going to hold out and wait for when I meet my Cory.

Finn (after Rachel declines his offer of being together): "Hey, whoa...I'm not just some guy you met at the music store that you can just blow off. I don't give up that easy."

Remember this one?

Girls are like
apples on trees. The best
ones are at the top of the tree.
The boys don't want to reach for
the good ones because they are afraid
of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they
just get the rotten apples from the ground
that aren't as good, but easy. So the apples
at the top think something is wrong with
them, when in reality, they're amazing.
They just have to wait for the right
boy to come along, the one
who's brave enough
to climb
all the way
to the top
of the tree.

My cousin's profile picture is her in her graduation gown with her family: her, brother, sister, mother, father, and both sets of grandparents.

When I graduate, it will just be me and my dad.

I sabotage myself

All those daydreams about you lying next to me in the fall while it's storming outside, kind of like tonight, have drifted away like the red balloon at my cousin's graduation.

And I will admit that if I close my eyes, I can see myself caressing your face and kissing you.

You don't realize it, but everything is up to you. It always was. And that was part of the problem.

The sad thing is that I wanted to make this work with you, but some things are better left unexplored.

Besides family, good friends are the only thing you can count on most of the time.

Finished Tobias Wolff's book of short stories; he's such an amazing writer.

I dreamt that it was end of the world. The street was wide and the left side was blazing with fire and the right side was dilapidated. There was a rift in the street where water collected and huge arcs flooded in with Egyptians and Samaritans, people from long ago. That was only a few feet away from a old wooden house, where my mom's side of the family was staying. I was on the steps, praying for protection, but as I step in, my cousin tells me that we're already protected since there's a a renown priest outside the house already.
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I kind of want to give up on you because if this is the beginning, I don't want to see the end.

"But her husband had never been thrown across a room, or kicked, or slammed headfirst into a door. No one has ever spoken to him as her father has spoken to Frank. He did not understand what it was to be helpless and alone. No one should be alone in this world. Everyone should have someone who kept faith, no matter what, all the way."
-"The Night in Question" by Tobias Wolff

It's a typical track. Red with its edges ripping from the overzealous racers and scorching sun. My breath comes in short spurts and my movements feel as though I'm not moving at all. A girl with a long pony tail catches up to me. Her bra straps are about to slip off her shoulders. She should be wearing a sports bra, but at least she's smart enough to wear a tank and shorts. Her jogging needs to be improved upon though. Her elbows stick out and her body isn't attuned to her legs. She passes me in her awkward haste. I look around, she isn't here with anyone. Who is she trying to impress?

The next jogger is sweating, it pools at the nape of his grey shirt. He's pale like toothpaste; it must be his first time outdoors in months. I can tell from his face that he thinks that if he can continue jogging like this, he can get into shape. The way he listens intently to his headphones, you can tell that he desires to become someone else.

Then there's the stereotypical jacked-up jock, the one with the ripped washboard abs and soccer shorts barely hanging on his bottom. He's around my height, good eye-candy, and he knows it. As I turn the corner, he looks my way, but I keep my head trained on jogging. When he gets on the track again, his back to me, I blatantly stare. It's alluring and yet disturbing how his shorts cling to his bottom when the top of his glutes gleam above them. The sun is beating against my eye lids and I blink as I stare, my footsteps match the pounding in my head. The ice cream truck's melody fills the area as it passes. It's torture. I stare at his shorts, sure that it'll slip at any second, but he keeps his steady pace and his shorts stay intact. Sweat licks at my neck and I feel my legs wobble with heaviness. My throat is parched; it's difficult to swallow.

you sneaky bastard

It sort of happened.

When I'm away from you, I think about your kisses. I think about how much I want to press my body against yours. I think about how comforting it is to have your hand on my stomach and how much I love to play with the cross around your neck--it grounds me. I think about how easily I fell asleep next to you when I can't stand sleeping in the same bed with someone. I think about how much I laugh when you're around. Then I think about how screwed I am because I don't think I'm supposed to care this much.

Current show: Leverage

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I'm going to push my fears aside and give us a chance.

Just don't break my heart too bad.

At the Cusp

Lately, I haven't been having any revelations or moving thoughts; hence, the one-liners and quotes (I've been drawing from other author's deepness). But the end of the year deserves one.

The other day, I walked down with Numz and Fe, and sat in the courtyard between the New Union and the library; no one was around (the library even closed on our asses). I don't really understand why, but I automatically zoned out.

Last year, I sat in the same area with someone that I was completely infatuated with. It was us two, and it was sunny as it was the other day, and I remember thinking it would be nice to be married to him. I remember touching his tattoo, thinking how surreal things were. It's funny how things work out. The story of my life is that I always know that things will come to an end; I anticipate it. Yet, anticipating something doesn't mean that it'll diminish the pain and the disappointment.

This year, I could have gone to a recognition ceremony. I promised myself I would go because I missed the end-of-the-semester show. But I couldn't bring myself to go; even if I was sick, the only thing keeping me from going was still myself. I couldn't bring myself to see him sing. I couldn't bring myself to face this, to fall back into whatever I was in. I lied in bed listening to music regretting every minute that I wasn't going to go see seniors. But I just couldn't.

Maybe it's because I'm bad at goodbyes. Really, really bad at goodbyes.

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Seniors officially graduated yesterday and it didn't really hit me until Anum hugged me and said she was leaving. As she said those words, my head was in the nook of her neck and her hair was brushing against my cheek and I couldn't help but start to tear.

I was waiting for that moment, waiting for that moment where all the sentiments built up and I would just cry. So I did. She kept saying that I was faking it and at first I thought that maybe I was forcing myself to cry, but once I started, I couldn't stop. I started to bawl into her shoulder as she held me tighter, telling me not to. But a year without Taco and Numz, how could I not?

Not to lessen her importance in my life, but I was crying for everyone and everything too. I was crying for all the seniors that took care of me (from Regina and Mike to Bri and Brandon) the ones I always looked up to, grateful for their presence . I was crying because next year I will be leaving. I was crying because Saratoga's 103 suite will be empty. No posters, no pictures, no lights, no stolen goods, no food, no laughter, no alcholic drinks, no boys who were supposed to sleep on the fucking couch--no excitement! No more running into each other's room to talk, lying around in each other's beds complaining about how lazy we are--we were such lazy fucks. No more cooking together and no more touching each other inappropriately. No more open confessions about our fears and no more hysterical giggling during late (late) night snacking to power hour with Key Stone (gross) to sleeping on Tom's couch with tatter tots, pistachios, and almonds (sorry Tom Tom). No more grinding with each other at the Rat, Scoreboard, LUL's house, Saratoga, Pods...anywhere. No more Thirstdays! That is the saddest part. No more Thirstdays.

I'm unbelievably blessed that I was able to be a part of this family of superheroes: Mei-Ling, Jya Jya from Sweden, NuNu and Maria Garcia. Junior year will definitely be the highlight of my college career.

Ice Queen Persona

This is why I keep to myself and I don't let guys in.

Brava!

I. Don't. Know.

And it's okay not to.

Hyped

Finally. Finally. We finally won intramural volleyball!

If only a certain one was around to share my joy with...

What the Dark-Eyed Angel Knows
by Eleanor Lerman

A man is begging on his knees in the subway. Six-thirty
in the morning and already we are being presented with
moral choices as we rocket along the old rails, through the
old tunnels between Queens and Manhattan. Soon angels
will come crashing through the ceiling, wailing in the voices
of the castrati: Won't you give this pauper bread or money?
And a monster hurricane is coming: we all heard about it
on the radio at dawn. By nightfall, drowned hogs will be
floating like poisoned soap bubbles on the tributaries
of every Southern river. Children will be orphaned and
the infrastructure of whole cities will be overturned. No one
on the East Coast will be able to make a phone call and we
will be boiling our water for days. And of course there are
the serial killers. And the Crips and the Bloods. And the
arguments about bilingual education. And the fact that all
the clothing made by slave labor overseas is not only the
product of an evil system but maybe worse, never even fits

so why is it that all I can think of (and will think of through
the torrential rains to come and the howling night) is
you, sighing so deeply in the darkness, you and the smell
of you and the windswept curve of your cheek? If this
train ever stops, I will ask that dark-eyed angel, the one
who hasn't spoken yet. He looks like he might know

I need to crackalack this paper & presentation

I want to eat watermelon. =(

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