This me & You thing

i relate to You best
in utter silence
creaking wooden floors
chuckling beneath my feet
air conditioning
cycling on and then off again
this is how i hear You,
amongst basic vibrations

in the social scene around me
the dust has quickly settled
revealing effort and character
supporting reality and depth
superficiality has checked out, 
departed from this ghost town
leaving me a bit dirty, but joyous

and thus it all revolves around You

as it should

as it was always meant to

people sigh
i hear their voices laden with frustration
i watch their attitudes clashing
their perceptions battling
the hearts wanting to find level fields
pastures to lie in
meadows of simplicity
ease

they will get here

on the far side of these grassy expanses
i sit watching with field glasses
atop a short stout plateau
sitting back with You
Your words
Your peace
You

it's all that i need

and as i ponder You
we feel the vibrant silence
until the air conditioner kicks back on
until the neighbor's noise pollution reaches my ears

but i just smile

and relish this combination

this whole me and You thing.

Welcome back, Jeannie.

I've had a day and a half back in Florida. Yesterday, I walked out of the chilly airport into the beautiful February weather that this state has to offer. After being in 30 degree temperatures for almost 3 weeks, to say I appreciated the day doesn't suffice. It was stunning, great for the soul. 

I took Leslie to work today, and she let me borrow her jeep. I drove the mundane route home, but it was transformed into a beautiful scenic highway. It mattered not that I know Sand Lake and Kirkman like the back of my hand; it was irrelevant that I have traversed this trail many, many times. It was mind-blowing.

I spent the afternoon debating politics with Drew over Chickfila. It was an impromptu trip, based on his spontaneous phone call. It seems that he and I are consistently debating politics. He's a devout Obama supporter and we've never seen eye to eye on his support of our new Prez. Many times, he'll give me a statement he believes in, and I'll just debate with him for sheer sport. He knows this and loves it. But don't you feel sorry for him - he does the same to me, except he might be more adept at it. His comment to me as I left him at Kate's house was: I'll see you soon and we'll debate some more.

I told him it couldn't be about politics.

We'll talk CS Lewis or theology instead.

I drove back down I-4 in the ruby red jeep, weaving in and out of traffic, wishing that the top was down. Les and I verbally spar about the jeep top. She has refused to take it off for anything less majestic than a beach trip - which we haven't yet done in her jeep. I can't understand the point of having a jeep in Floridian spring unless you take the top off. I know she expects me to show up to pick her up this afternoon topless. The jeep, that is. Maybe on Friday!

Tonight, more time to spend with some of my favorite people in Orlando. We're going to Dandy's on Colonial. Tiff and I first met with Chris Slankard here when we were heading up our sphere, Disappointment with God. We wanted to hang with him and get to know him better. Somehow that has transformed into many early evenings over a Scattegories board... which in turn developed into debates over ridiculous answers (Something that is in the sky... Rocks. This is still an ongoing debate, trust me. He plans to write a book with this title someday: There ARE Rocks in the Sky. In fact, we've often discussed how many will believe it to be a truly groundbreaking statement, expecting a book on life and love and happiness. They will be either incredibly disappointed or infinitely entertained by its true content.)

So tonight, we cheers to one last Scattegories tournament. Walter, Carolina and Alecia plan to join, which will mix up the pre-existing regulars at our Scattegories table. I might add that I'm rather excited to add two logical ENTJs to the mix to balance out these wacky and creative types that are usually at odds with my black and white world.

Now for the rest of you that I haven't been lucky enough to see yet: let's get on it. 

But a lot of the time, I don't have a car.

Orlando, I'm relishing your love, your people, and your sunshine.

How I ADORE you.

Things I Have Lost

- My favorite ring, purchased from Seattle when I visited there this summer with my mom. The ring is nice and all, but what I truly lost is the memories aroused by said ring.
- My childhood innocence. It has turned into cynicism and doubt. The good news is that I'm softening up a bit - but I've a long road to travel.
- My 2 favorite cats ever: Bonnie and Clyde, later nicknamed Sissy and Pooh-Bear. We got them when I was 12 - they saw a divorce, 3 graduations, a Navy enrollment, an engagement breakup, the birth of a beautiful nephew, and so much more. I miss them forever.
- A fiance. Well, let's be honest - I know exactly where he is. But I lost the relationship and the intimacy of a long-term relationship. It was absolutely for the best, but I do miss the bonuses of a relationship like that.
- Most of my ability to converse in French. I remember words, improper conjugations, etc.
- My college photographs. I need to search the attic. Thanks to digital photography, storage of newer photographs is much easier.
- Self-consciousness. I have grown more comfortable with the woman I am, physically and personally. Like anyone, I am insecure. And I think of improvement all the time - praying for it, actually. But I do like who I am. ENTJ criticism and all.
- Memories of my childhood. This is by far my saddest loss. For some reason, I don't remember a good deal of growing up. I can remember stories, once mentioned, but I don't have the ability to quickly recall those times of happiness, sadness, anger, mundane-ness, etc. I wish I had journaled, like Mel.
- The worst Sorry game in the history of the world. Sorry is a child's game that is intended to destroy relationships. I am a bad sport. Add to the game a sister and nephew who hinder their ability to win in order to send me 'home' and you have a recipe for an explosion. I'm so embarrassed, in a funny way. Humility. This is something I need to GAIN.
- My ability to feel at home in solitude. I'm recovering this quickly, thanks to my trip to Georgia.
- My home. I am a vagabond right now - sleeping in random beds and on various couches until... I don't know when. It's strange to be so dependent on others, and the flexibility is a challenge.
- My grandfather. He is still alive, but he is in the early stages of dementia. He is too stubborn to have the proper surgery to lengthen his life, and so he continues to deteriorate. I have him to thank for my teasing tendencies. He was a great man, fallen as he was.
- My imagination and ability to be easily entertained. I spent yesterday morning with Kyla, a vivacious and wild (almost) 2 year old who I claim to be the godmother of. Jessie and Matt haven't acquiesced to my request yet :) She hid behind a fern, only to pop out after I asked the question, "Where is Kyla?" in a singsong voice. We must have done this 20 times and she never grew bored with it. I long for this part of childhood: the wonder, the awe, the magic.
- My interest in superficial relationships. Being apart from your community for several weeks gives you the blessing of knowing who your real friends are, and who you have time for, and who you care about, and who you relate to, etc. It's nice to see people once a week and say hello... but the true friendships are those I want to invest heavily in. The rest are a byproduct of a large community. It's truth, even if it's blunt.
- My love for Edward Cullen. I just write this for pure entertainment. There are things about fictional characters that draw me to them, whether male or female. I obsessed over Eddie C for a while - I admit - but he's not my role model for men. Robbie Pattinson is adorable. I have now, however, moved on to Hugh Jackman as the Drovah. A man's man. A woman's man. A man who lives the life he believes in even if he becomes an outcast as the result of his associations. DROVAH! 

What have you lost?

L'amitie

Friendship is often forged,

Fabricated as a result of like circumstances

Contrived from similar interests

Constructed due to the mere ease of it all.

Occasionally these effortless friendships

Outrun the duration of the likeness

But it seems that they often instead

Fall aside as conveniently as they arose.

And yet, the friendships that I crave

Are far beyond the circumstances,

Based rather in the true meeting of the souls involved:

Pure acceptance and love and truthfulness.

And as our worlds begin to revolve,

Orbit around different stars

The friendships adapt, evolve

The golden, shimmery strings of connection

Simultaneously loosen and tighten, 

Allowing freedom while maintaining intimacy.

Your Absence Makes My Heart Grow Fonder

Where are you? Inspiration that used to flourish, creative flower that used to radiate her fantastic words into my mind, fleeting pixie with endless energy - you have left, departed my soul, returned to your birthplace in that distant land.

I've searched every inch of my timeworn heart for you, but you left no trace of your past love for me. I have to be frank, to admit that I didn't notice your absence immediately. But they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder! Oh, how mine did and still does. I miss the soft mornings I spent with you, keys chattering like a five year old's teeth on a blustery, snowy morn. I miss the late nights, lying in bed, writing your words in my head. How I would snort in disgust at you for demanding I arise and capture your beauty just then! You always threatened me with forgetfulness. Instead, I wanted to pull the pillow over my head to drown out your alluring, captivating voice to catch a few z's.

Yet I now long for the darkened midnight that I can awake from a deepened sleep to find your tiny breath upon my face, caressing my thoughts and mind in your skillful manner.

Please come home. We can share?

The door opens, the door closes

The revolving door spins, quickly.

People arrive, people depart

I, the watcher, merely observe.

So it was, until recently.

Now, I leave, unnoticeably

Striding through the twisting exit

Whispers of the past echoing.

Calls of the future bellowing.

Farewell, overwhelming clusters

Good morning, solitude and self.

I used to know you. You were such a different person then. You've always been a cynic, but now it seems as if you've become their leader, instilling doubt and condescension in your ranking officers. These (mindless) leaders salute your persuasive speeches and carry them down to their armies, through patronizing yells and commands.

I've changed, too. I've lost my ability to care anymore and I've floundered in my attempts to think emotionally. I'm trying to seek forgiveness - it's something that actively hides from me. Every 3rd day or so I find it and relish it; but it's fleeting. That's okay, because at least I know to seek it.

This week threatens to be explosive. Let's hope that the 'yes' is a fraudulent one; that I can escape this state for now without an intersection of our paths.

To look into your apathetic eyes would only serve to fuel bitterness, and I've grown incredibly weary of being her landlord.

13 days and counting.

I find myself witness to and partaking in many conversations about vulnerability and relationships lately. Definition. Clarity. Responsibilities. Owning up. Honesty and Truth. Love. Rejection. Frustration. Miscommunication.

I'm sometimes astounded at the lack of communication that takes place between friends, colleagues, lovers. Of course it's not natural to seek conflict, to cherish it, to revel in it. We must overcome our tendencies to dislike conflict and be open and honest about our emotions and our perceptions. Perception is reality, as some say, and to not be aware of the other's real view of the situation is a disadvantage. It causes one to look at a situation analytically and/or through the lens of their own bias, their own life experiences. The truth is white, but we all perceive it to be a random shade of an entirely different color.

Scientists say that memories are recreated each time we remember them. According to these, the less a memory is remembered, the more accurate the memory remains. Should I remember something 100 times in 20 years, it will surely be different in my memory than the past reality. One of the reasons for this is perception. When I was 7 (20 years ago), I did not apply my cynicism or my ability to abstractly reason or my hurt pride to the memory. I was innocent then, seeing things through a beautiful set of naive eyes. But 20 years later, as I think of the same memory, I remember differently because of my personal learning over this set of years.

And so it is with conflict.

There are times that conflict cannot be resolved, reconciled. And for that, we must abandon the situation entirely. By entirely, I mean forgiveness, of course. Letting go of bitterness and hurt and self pity and (righteous or not) anger. Until then, we are captives in our own prison (mind you, the chains and jail cells are imaginary.)

On to vulnerability and rejection. They seem to be a couple, both which terrify most people. Both, however, provide room for growth, for learning, for experience. Life is not about everything going our way. Life is about failure sometimes. Failure, in my logical opinion (though my emotions do not always agree), is success. You cannot learn of humility until you have failed. You cannot learn the way of freedom until your fear of failure has departed. You cannot learn to love yourself until failure is accomplished, experienced, and most importantly, accepted. Admired, even?

I am terrified, at times, to put feelings on the table. Part of me thinks it is not my responsibility, as it applies to a male/female relationship. Part of it is that I tend to go for the guys who are just as insecure and scared as I am to admit to vulnerability and allow for rejection. 

Safe.

It's illogical, to consider these relationships safe, but when you consider the lack of responsibility: safe.

Now this does apply to me currently, but to be frank, the emotions/attractions are not quite legit enough to require a discussion. Coupled with the fact that I've got 13 days left in Orlando and I'm not desiring any sort of relationship while I am abroad, I do not have to face these demons just yet.

What I'm left fighting, instead, is my tendency to require so little from a man. 

It's the bloodiest battlefield I've seen in some time, and to walk away only an amputee would be considered victory.

devilish smile

if i close my eyes
will you disappear
if i turn up 'find me to forgive' 
and hit repeat 1 on the iphone
can i drown out your voice

if i turn my back on your person
will i be able to ignore your reflection in the eyes that stare at me
if i distract myself with enough fun
can i act as if you don't exist

will i be able to forget
those words you easily mumbled in the darkness,
the drunkenness
(intoxication of many levels)
the moment
meaningless?

i have shut my eyes
i have deafened my ears
i have blocked you out
i have let you go

but your smile might sneak you back in

Sometimes a girl needs a good kick in the ass. It's usually when she gets a silly idea stuck in her head, like a scratched record repeating the same line, and then begins to believe that those ideas are... intelligent? true? honorable? 

"They're both unique and amazing and interesting in their own way, but what it really boils down (when you're interested/wanting to date someone) to is how they treat YOU.  While both of them have their own set of pros and cons, how they treat you is unequivocally the most important deciding factor. Because this also reveals to me not only what they think about you, what you really think about yourself and what you actually want out of a relationship."

Really. If you don't have friends like this, you need to get them.

Eh.

So there you are, and here I am. And there he was, and here I am. And there HE is, and here I am. Two down, defined, outlined, black and white. One to go. I'm not as thrilled about definition on this one. The second one: I did not feel the same. The third one: hmmm, maybe I did. But circumstances have kept my logic alive and my emotions in check.

You? Eh.

I spoke to her yesterday, of her own situations, and heard her say she didn't want the DTR. I didn't understand then, but upon reflection: I see her point. 

Just get out of my head, if you please. 

The Yellow Rose.

Today, my yellow rose is dying, dead.

It reminds me of the friendship I imagine it to represent. Girls who know much more about flowers than I have told me that this is a friendship rose. I wondered for days who gave it to me, and asked several guys, who all denied this gift. The only person I haven't asked, who I assume gave it to me, took less effort to communicate with me than he did to leave the rose.

So the rose is dead, and the friendship is, too.

A rose is a rose and nothing more when it is not backed up by love. It is thoughtful and lovely and I enjoyed the excitement in my heart when I saw it... but a week later, it is mundane and ugly. 

I shall toss it into the trash and think of it no more.

On a more positive note, I really do love flowers. Especially ones that represent love supported by action.

Leave that Pedestal for someone else to climb

(I wrote this for a friend of mine, but I feel that pieces of it apply to all of my friends.)

There's this wonderful girl I know. She looks out from Egyptian-lined brown eyes at me, trying to fit her current standard of thinking around mine. We think quite differently and frequently force our ideas so strongly against each other that they splatter, like eggs hitting the floor. This splatter leaves just a bit of my idea in her and her idea in me. We're growing, you see, because of each other.

And so it blows my mind, as I stare back into her eyes, that she doesn't see what I see, what everyone sees. Granted, we are all victim of knowing ourselves best, and seeing ourselves more clearly than anyone but God. It's true that we, as a race of people, are harder on ourselves than others. But I get frustrated when I can't take this video of her that's in my head and transfer it into her thoughts.

She doesn't know that she lights up the room when she walks in, even if she's in a downtrodden state. She hasn't realized that people flock to her because of her compassionate and deeply loving soul. She hasn't successfully understood how her energy is contagious, her smile catching. She hasn't become her true self in fear that others won't like her (we are all so naive in this aspect.) BUT, the glimpses that we all get of her beauty ARE her true self. I hope that this beauty will one day present her true self to her subconscious... then seeing her soul in the truest, purest light. I wish and pray that she will crown herself princess of her body, so that the insecure demons inside her will have to submit to the True one. He has given her reign as princess through His grace and love.

One day... she will move past these tears of frustration and pain to understand that he's just a jerk parading around in a lover's suit. He's not a lover. He's not a friend. He's got his own problems, and he's not perfect. And that's okay. But it's not okay for him to keep up this charade of caring, of selflessness. He's not who he says he is (and to be fair, none of us exactly are), and I wish he'd just be man enough to leave her alone. But she, fair-hearted as she is, doesn't think she is strong enough for it. Short term gain for long term pain. I understand, for you see, I've been there before. Several times. But then there are those times you just have to immerse yourself in the heartache and melancholia so that it will depart from you when you become strong enough to cast it out. If you invite your enemy in for tea every day, he will slyly form that habit. Your strength will waiver and your heart will break (at least minutely) every time.

I love you, dearest, most beautiful friend. I love everything about you. I admire the steps you have taken to become so broken, even if they weren't your top choice. Your brokenness has NEVER made you ugly, but has only made you human. You've fallen off of your own pedestal, and I wish you'd stop trying to climb back up to the top. You are PERFECT how you are, and you will grow into who you are meant to be.

God is Love, dear one. He will mend your heart and heal your soul and comfort your grieving.

The Lips of Lovers Shan't Part with Pasts.

She kept the box a secret from the rest of the explorers.

It was lodged in a wooden puzzle bookcase in the office. Despite being overrun with thousands of skaters, explorers and runaways over the past 11 years, it appeared as though nobody had ever looked twice at this unembellished purple velvet box.

They walked on in front of her, oblivious to her thoughts and curiosity regarding this treasure. They were headed towards the graffitied Budda, talking of ways to scale the massive statute. She barely heard their chatter as her hands ran over the edges of this box. There was no opening, which she found odd. What is the purpose of such a velvet brick? It sounded and felt hollow. She put it in her purse for the time being, until she could be sure that she would not be distracted by her friends. It was her find, her discovery, her intrigue.

The manly men, as they were lovingly dubbed by the group, scrambled to the top of the faux mountains, followed by some of the more courageous women. She sat a good distance off, examining the box in detail. It was burned in one corner, as if a careless smoker had left a cigarette burning upon it as he walked away to attend to a mundane task. She pondered this burn, and other minor bits of wear and tear to the sturdy shell.

She then found a sharp piece of metal, which she used to cut the top piece of the box off. She had hoped for a hidden treasure within, but found it empty. She inspected the green silk-paper interior, which revealed nothing of its past to her. She was growing more and more frustrated by the minute, because this box (which was clearly out of place among the vandalized houses and windows) held closely its past and secrets.

At the peak of her annoyance, she hurled the box towards the murky, algae covered pond in front of Budda. Only one of her friends at the top saw her reaction, and merely chalked it up to meaningless destruction: the theme of the day.

So the box drifted to the bottom of the moat, never to be seen again by human eyes. It was quite successful at containing the secret of its journey to this theme park land. It would never utter the story of the cigars it housed in Thailand, or the money it stored during the travels across the Pacific. It would keep tight the political and social discussions it overheard over many a bottle of Chivas in the home of the Californian sailor, and the tale of the thrift shop in which it sat for 3 years and 2 months. It refused to part with the memory of a British businessman, who for his Asian wife, purchased this newly sacred box as a gift. His gift to her contained 2 commemorative tickets to the opening of his life's dedication: a tribute to her culture and his love for her, Splendid China.

It never once spoke of the simple love it contained for many years, or the vast betrayal it detected that forced the park (and her heart) into closure.

The box, at the bottom of the pond, decayed as easily and quickly as the love it purportedly housed. 

Sham.

She Reads.

She reads Anna Karenina and discovers herself in both Alexey and Anna. She is disgusted with her own infidelity; she is disgusted with his apathy. She is disgusted with the way he refuses to communicate and the way that he refuses to address LIFE. Life and her ugly, vicious, bitchy problems.

She reads Persuasion and longs for a letter like the only part of the book she considers worth reading. She wants someone to care like that for her. She wonders and ponders whether that man really exists. Is it fair to set such an expectation?

She reads Twilight and has anxiety over the way the writer twists and wraps (and warps) her heart around the lead vampire. She learns to detach herself from the books and laugh over the silliness of it all.

She reads the Bible and sees herself in every fall of all of His children. She has been there before and frequently. Maybe not adultery in action, but in thought. Maybe not idolatry with gold, but idolatry with materials. She has turned her back on Jesus; she has walked away from the only intelligent and difficult choice to pursue the heart-deadening, alluring shards of glass the world has given her to slit her wrists. She comes and goes often.

She reads The Unvanquished and finds herself longing for a time when communication was solely dependent upon word of mouth. She wants to find herself in her kitchen, cooking with the servants, finding the soldiers dragging back from war, shouting the news of the finality of the war. She wants to provide the gift of shelter to John Wilkes Booth, while being completely oblivious to the death of her country's leader.

She reads A Brief History of Time (of course only the illustrated version). She illustrates his writings further for a better understanding. She looks into the strange thoughts of a genius man and wants to travel into space with His particles of light, His waves of light. She wants to become part of imaginary time, to travel endlessly at the quickest speed known to man. To feel the crushing weight of the Universe. To traverse the depths of the multiverses in which the rest of her soul lives.

She reads of Dorian Gray and relates to his desire to remain forever youthful.

She reads the Color of Water and ponders the struggles of a black man with a white mother in times when these things were taboo.

She reads Fight Club and relates to the violence, the chaos, and the anarchy.

She reads Frankenstein and relates to his inability to be human.

She reads Sex God and highlights the whole damn book because it all reminds her of her. And the rest of the world, which is obsessive about sex in every form.

She reads Abba's Child and cries at Grace and Love.

She reads To Own a Dragon and sobs at the effects of an absentee dad on her soul.

And then, she stops reading for a time.

Because although all of these books contain part of her,

None of them can withhold her entirety.

What was it that tore us apart?

What the hell was it? Where did it come from?

It snuck up on us one cold November day, and we never had a chance.

We never heard the sounds as it trod upon the forest towards the cave we used to hide out in.

We never saw the flood waters coming.

We were swept away, of course in opposite directions

Swept away from everything and everybody.

I will never be the same.

Good 

Bye.

Oh to be distracted.

I came out here to sit in my backyard and read the words and thoughts of others. I came to lose myself and my thoughts and introspections in Lamont or Tolstoy. I walked out the double sliding glass doors with the idea of escape from my head.

The wind is blowing the leaves of these trees so slowly, so beautifully, that I can't help but to be distracted by the quiet sound. The sun is slipping through the fronds of the palms, dancing across my feet, my pants, my table, my books. At a distance - just far enough to be soothing and not noisy - I hear the cars and trucks driving down Vineland. 

But there's one sound that breaks me: the whisper of notes that trail across someone's backyard, over the slats of my fence, and into my arms. I can't tell if it's a cd or someone actually playing the piano - it's very faint. The sounds drift by and fade out now and again because they are too far away. Part of me wants them closer - to lose my thoughts in the sound of the trilling melody, the repetitive keys. And part of me loves them just where they are. They are far enough away from me that I am not able to absolutely shut down my thoughts.

I just realized, before all of this distracting came to pass, while I opened Traveling Mercies, that my defense mechanism is nonchalance. It's being blunt and hiding in the attitude behind those thoughts. This revelation, as several others have in the past 24 hours, stunned me. It caught me off guard. 

It has been rather humbling in the past hours to realize how little I know about myself. How out of tune I am with reality. How much of my time I spend in the knowledge and perceptions in my head, and how little of it I spend outside. 

I'm still processing the perceptions others have so graciously given me of myself. I am terrified of their thoughts and yet, in some strange way, overjoyed to face the truth about me. 

I said this earlier today, but I feel as though I have learned more about my issues in the past 24 hours than I did in a year or so of on-and-off counseling.

So much to consider.

The Habitat of the Soul

I arose from my slumber,

One thought in my mind

To seek out the sunlight

And, of course, You.

Before I left,

I felt the rumblings of Your presence

The windows were open,

The breeze a cool wake up call.

My soul was situated entirely within my heart upon waking

(its customary home)

But during the drive, 

An explosion rocked the ground

As my soul threatened to break the physical bounds of my fragile body

It was nothing but glorious.

The joy I felt 

At the announcement of Your presence

Overwhelmed me

I sung, “You’re Beautiful”

Along with Phil

The words resounding in my heart

As if You inscribed them there in Your precious blood

(indelible ink of sorts)

as I sang.

I then spent hours in the gazebo

Looking out over the rose gardens

Incredulous at the emotional outburst

You inspired within

No words able to flow from my pen

Until hours later.

Serenity sat with me in that gazebo

and the evening found me giddy with laughter.

14 hours of waking pleasure.

Gratitude.

Monochromatic.

The world is very black and white to me. I am analytical, I am precise, and I consider vague-ness to be a cop out. I evaluate life, people, choices, and conflict in a methodical manner and lay out options in light of these evaluations.

Lately, this has caused me problems.

Apparently, everyone in the world is not like me. Seriously, who knew? No, just kidding. But the truth is that in my mind, the way I solve conflict and see situations is the best. It's efficient (yes, I know that efficiency is not always the best way to approach reaching the end, but when it makes sense, I can't deny its purpose!) Not only that, but it's clear cut and logical and I can write it down and make it ordered and sketch flowcharts and make anyone see its LOGIC.

So when this doesn't work, I get hyper frustrated. Like today. Someone tells me I haven't been a good friend. I ask how. The vague and confusing answer is the vibes I give. How do you measure vibes? How do you change vibes? How do you increase or decrease them? If all that I'm doing is done from love, how in the heck do I change your perception to be more in line with mine? Vibes, I think, are purely based upon perception. You might get a bad vibe from me, but what if it's more related to your bad day? Or your insecurity stemming from an issue unrelated to me?

To take a step backward, I completely understand that not everyone can work on my system that is so logical and worthwhile to me. I don't expect that. But for me to attempt to wrap my mind around this polar opposite form of thinking is beyond challenging. I'm considering myself a failure thus far, to be frank. I can't figure it out. I don't know how to improve and she is not helping me understand. 

I have realized, in this course of friendship, that I need to be a little more flexible with my black and white world. I might not go into the murky grey depths of the abstract sea, but I could certainly stand to bend a bit more.

If you wanna help me (since I have no clue how to start), I'd love it.

Maybe we should all screw the monochromatic scheme and find that azure sea and sky.

There is definition.

I sat and looked into his eyes and I was immediately captivated. There is something about his soul and how different it is from my own that is magnetic. (Even though you might think that it would be more akin to the repellent poles.) I watched his mouth move, uttering inane strings of words; the genuine, raucous laughs repeatedly made their escape from my mouth. Sitting in the moment, I wished for nothing more. Why did it feel so good? To be appreciated and to appreciate him? I can't say I wanted him to leave, so when we said our goodbyes it was far too soon, even at 3am.

In my mind, which thrives on logic and order and sense, I was jotting a 5 page list of all the reasons it would never work. I'm moving to Australia. I'm moving to Australia. I'm moving to Australia. Also, I think he has a girlfriend? (Facebook tells all.) This is mere infatuation. Is there a basis for the attraction, beyond the obvious? Questions and more questions lined up, each waiting their turn to be translated onto that list. 

There's also the obvious: his attention seems fleeting.

It felt absurd to have her whisper to me later, "I think he likes you. He keeps finding you whenever you walk away." It didn't seem that way in my mind, but I always tend to question whether the guys I find interesting actually like me. I am quite cautious about letting those thoughts prance through my head. I am certain it has everything to do with expectations increasing and potentials for disappointment.

I have to admit to you, my reader, the truth is that whether or not I might actively acknowledge those words in my head, my heart has already written scrolls upon scrolls about this infatuation. It rarely has the chance, in my days, to be as introspective as the dominate head - but today is her lucky day. She'll keep her secret as long as possible, until the truth is too obvious to ignore anymore.

And the days go by and I think of him sometimes. On my lucky days, like today, I get to see him. Sometimes I keep my distance, saying only hello and goodbye. Other days, I gather his undivided attention close and relish the time spent in our friendship. It must be the heart and the head jousting within for the throne. It makes me smile. I have always enjoyed their tournaments... even though the victor is not always who I support.

Even so, they are both me. So I do always win. This is good for my competitive spirit. (Wait, maybe it's not. I am not adept at losing and this does nothing to mold me?)

I am intrigued to see how this plays out the rest of my time in Orlando. I just realized that I am looking forward to it because it IS black and white. Does that sound strange to you? But there IS definition: I leave in less than 30 days. There is no long-term commitment. It is easy to let it come, let it go. I think. Yes, I will miss him when I am gone, should we become more intimate in our friendship.

But the truth is that long-term allows for, no, demands, vulnerability. 

That thought scares me.