Wind me up.

I was supposed to be a wind-up doll. Wind me up and watch me dance. Turn my gears, force them back they'll roll forward and pull me like I'm on puppet strings. Twist and turn as some little girl sings.

But the toy maker was angry when he made me. He jammed my copper winder between my wooden shoulder blades like a spurned lover would a knife. Now my gears don't work right. You can wind me up, but I can't dance.

With every twist, my limbs get tighter. More pressure on my straining insides. As I sit quietly upon my shelf, never complaining, everyone takes a turn. They all give me a few good turns, each takes more effort than the last. But that doesn't stop them. Each winds me up to see what will happen, but nothing ever does. I get the feeling that they're disappointed. I hate to disappoint. I wish I could be more vocal.

"Please, don't wind me. I'm broken. You're putting a lot of stress on me and I'm already so tired."

But I just can't say no. All those children's faces full of wonder and innocence and want. How can I deny them? So I let them twist and feel my body pulled beyond what it can take while I am ashamed to not live up to their expectations.

I'm worried I won't last much longer. One or two more good winds and I'll surely bust. The gears will pop.

I dread this moment even as I anticipate it. It will most definitely be a moment of pure ecstasy in release, but I worry I won't live through to see the other side. Or find myself an even more empty husk. But maybe then, someone will come along and fix me. Or at least put me out of my misery.

A raw half-draft of an idea bandying about in my head. Is it worthwhile enough to turn into a real story? Maybe. Maybe it's too self-centered. I feel wound up. I'm supposed to empathize, but I can't sympathize with that.

Why my poetry teacher said DON'T RHYME

4 a.m. and no cents on the dollar

Hope you kept that receipt
just take em back to the market
cause those are last year's cliches
they'll only get staler in my back pocket

Yeah, you had me on a leash
and I was so happy just to follow
now you've let me off too easy
and it's just a bit much for me to swallow

Still standing here bewildered
right where you left me off the lead
ashamed I love your cigarette smoke smell
it's de ja voodoo - I'll go smoke some weed

It's not fairy dust rimmed round my lashes
The process is called desalination
So buy me some Mickey D's fries
and let's get on with my salvation.

All of it is bad, but I hate the second stanza. Hopefully will get around to improving in the future, when I can be more objective.

shuttlecocks

Shuttlecocks. That was all poor Nancy could say at the end. They batted her around till she was cracked.

Shuttlecocks. They all run and run for her while she flies helplessly through the air. Arms extended- reaching, stretching, striving to touch her. But as soon as you've got to her, just when she's in your grasp, you knock her away again. Just one more slap in the face. Another broken promise. A freshly revealed lie. And she's flying again, confused as to her direction.

Shuttlecocks. How many more bruises can she take? This is the final stroke. Her thin shell breaks to reveal her empty interior. She falls to the grass, it catches her lightly, but stabs into her wound. It's okay, though; you've got a fresh birdie waiting in the wings. And there's always the one you batted up onto the roof last week. One more good breeze and she'll be back in the game.

Shuttlecocks. How long until I'm broken? I won't give a backstory. I wouldn't let you take the credit. I would just be broken. Broken, insane and free. Drawing murals on sheets of butcher paper. Everyone would call me a genius. They would pity me for not knowing how much my art was selling for. I would be so happy.

coasting

A somewhat surprising number of my high school friends have/are getting married and having kids. This phenomenon is startling to me because I can't see how they could possibly be ready for such a feat. And I'm not even talking emotionally/psychologically ready. I mean financially, logistically. I'm just making it check to check and these guys are renting homes, buying diapers.

Up until I was about 18, I never thought I wanted to have kids. I knew I could be selfish and I wanted to have a career and spend my money on trekking across the globe. But I guess that maternal instinct finally turned itself on in my senior year. I started to think about how much joy children bring. How fulfilling it must be to pass on your knowledge to this small creature so curious and willing to learn. I think what really kicked started this foray into thoughts of parenthood was that I had fallen in love for the first time. I could actually see myself getting married and growing old with him. Finally, I could envision an environment loving and stable enough to bring a child into.

I knew when I went off to college that I was putting my relationship on hold. I knew I was forcing us to be stagnant. What didn't occur to me was how much of a toll this waiting would have on my emotional well-being. I also wasn't prepared to try to keep two rapidly changing individuals in an unchanging relationship. And the gap isn't closing as the years tick by. I was supposed to be moving in with the boyfriend next month. Instead we've tacked on another two or three years until "us" could even remotely be a happy possibility.

As I watch my friends get married and start families, I wonder if I have chosen the right path for myself. I was always going to go to university. It was what was expected of me. I was always a smart girl and smart girls go to college and get degrees and enter high-paying fields. How could an A student, AP student, Honor student give up higher education to be a housewife? That would be stupid. That would be wasted potential.

But I see the way my friends look at their spouses and their children. Those looks are filled with a kind of happiness I've never even come close to. I know that I am making memories and gaining invaluable experiences at college. And I'm having fun, I have the most wonderful friends. But at the end of the day, what it all comes down to is: when I do have children, all I want to do is stay at home and love them. So why am I dragging myself into debt for an education I will eventually throw away?

I've always done what was expected of me. I want to do the right thing. But I'm coasting. I can feel it. I'm just coasting.

Self Improvement

When you become complacent, it is time to do something drastic.

I want to be so busy I forget about the warm nest of apathy I like to retreat into when I feel like things have gotten too heavy. Working for The Fine Print, a progressive monthly magazine making its debut in Gainesville in September, has been my first step. Right now, I am busy creating flyers. I should actually probably get busier on that, but I work best under deadline. I also put in an app at The Alligator for a production job. I was told they needed people and I do have a little experience, but I haven't gotten that phone call yet. I think I might go by later this week. I really want the job. Not only would it look great on my resume, but I feel like I could really learn a lot.

I'm also holding onto the idea of going to Japan for a year after a I graduate to teach English. This involves applying to the JET programme. I need to devote more time to Japanese. I lost my study partner though, due to a change in majors, but hopefully this won't hurt my motivation. I want to get really involved with the Japanese Club as well.

I want someone to give me the opportunity to better myself.

I want to be so busy that if I decide to make that drastic decision, I won't have time to dwell on its consequences.

Auto-Focus has been disabled

I was tired, sleepy even, just a little while ago. But now that I find myself alone in my apartment with nothing so pressing that it can't wait until tomorrow, I have become restless. My mind won't shut down, but it refuses to focus. It meanders wildly from topic to tangent and zones out into some dimension where all of my problems seem to display themselves like album art in iTunes. My fidgety mind seems to have also rung the wariness out of my muscles like water out of a soaked t-shirt, leaving them damp and heavy, but no longer sopping with exhaustion. I found myself pacing about the living room staring spacily out the window, even though the blinds are drawn.

My brain keeps insisting on working it way into dusty files that should have been packed away in a backroom long ago. But my librarian is just as sentimental and only slightly more organized than I am. So there are a stack of files tucked into a deep drawer in her desk that she just can't bring herself to file away and risk their quickened deterioration. But these aren't current files. They are only memories. I must remember that these moments are gone. These people and these relationships are not static. They have changed. Some have changed so much they have become unrecognizable. Some have become toxic. A few I couldn't even tell you how they have changed because they have grown too far apart from me. But I still cling to how they were. From time to time I ponder over what might have grown if only that seed had found good, dark soil instead of dry, cracked sand.

I can't expect you to save me from my decisions. The you that would have saved me and the me you would have risked it all for are dead now. They are only images, smells, impressions on my gray matter. And I should never have expected you to save me then. How can I still hope you will?

I'm sick of thinking about how it used to be, how it could have been, how it might be, how it should be. I need to concentrate on how it is.

My knight in shining flannel is not coming. Where do I go from here?

nomadic

This is rambling, nonsense. Some of it is melodramatic, but all of it is pure thought. I'm not in a creative enough mood to put it all together cohesively. This is a good entry to skip, but I feel obligated to update.

Today was a lazy day. I failed to do anything productive. My lame excuse is that I'm half-sick. This is Paul's fault. So, thanks, Paul, for giving me a reason to have a PJs day.

I finished reading Ender's Game late last night. Even if you don't like SF - I don't read much of it myself - you should give this book a chance. Card has an awesome writing style and the characters are intense and the story sucks you in and really makes you think about your own story.

Do you ever feel like you're not you? Sometimes I do. Sometimes I seem to be this other person just watching my body do and say things. I feel like I'm on auto-pilot too often these days.

Speak. Laugh. Nod. Sympathize. Pretend like you give a damn. Smile. Get up. Go. Interact. Come back. Good night. Oh, hello, self. Are you home now? Maybe, I'm not sure. Where have you been? I don't know. Was I gone? Your phone is ringing. Oh. You should answer it. Okay. Don't forget to sound happy.

Sometimes I don't know If I'm acting or if I'm being genuine. Do I really find this funny, or am I laughing because I'm supposed to?

I teared up watching Wall-E, that was genuine. That was one of the best animated films I've ever seen. Relationships are so important.

I need to orient myself. Which way is down?

moths from the change purse

My mother gave me a check for five hundred dollars last week. That seems like a lot of money, but after 429 in rent and 20 for internet that only leaves me with 50 for groceries. I don't know how long those groceries have to last me. So in the store today, I'll have to add up how much everything I buy costs. How embarrassing.

puzzles and pensieves

What do I say? What can I say? It's been too long since I've poured a little bit of me out into this blog. I wish it could be more like a pensieve from Harry Potter. I wish I could save precious moments so I would never forget a detail and dump out the ones I just don't want to deal with right now.

I spent four days last week staying with a friend in Boca. It was lovely. We went to the ocean every morning. What is a better way to begin each day than having coffee with you best friend and then leaving everything behind as your feet hit the hot sand and the only thing in front of you is vast, blue ocean? I can't imagine anything sweeter.

We also drove to Miami a couple times. A lot of my friends are from Miami. It made me realize what a small town I come from. And not small and adorable place like some New England small town that a teen drama on the WB takes place in. A shitty little town that all the kids talk about getting out out out of.

But now I'm back in Gainesville. Here I feel like we're all on the same playing field. We're all just kids trying to figure ourselves out. I think I learned a lot about myself my first two years here. Now I want to spend the next two piecing it all together. I was going to use a puzzle analogy, but I realized I'll never finish the puzzle, because I keep finding new pieces.

Once, on a family vacation that is so old, it is hazy in my mind, my mother was doing a puzzle. It was one of those crazy puzzles with a gazillion piecies, when she had found the spot for each piece she discovered she was missing a piece from the puzzle. Just one had been left out of the box.

I feel like that puzzle sometimes. Like God sent my box down with a piece missing. Everything is going pretty well, but something's off and it pushes everything just a millimeter out of whack. I hope he's put that piece somewhere down here for me to find.

I miss the ocean.