Adventure Time

It's not really that I want out- it's plenty nice inside. It's really just that I had an impulse to run, and I figured, why not? I'm on vacation- I can do what I want.  So now, here I am, feet pounding on the condo sidewalk, with my wavy hair, red tips in my face. It's not cold down here in the desert. This part looks more like a suburb with its concrete, orderly structures, and paved roads. I haven't been going for longer than a minute before I reach the place where the wire is barbed and the cars change to trucks that read things like, "Dixie Waste" and "U-Haul." I stop, looking over the red rocks and the odds and ends of construction materials that call my name. My finger touches the point to the wire, like Aurora reaching out to change her fate. I walk down the length of the fence, pulling thorns from my bare feet and plastic bags from the rusted wire. When I finally reach the end of the empty place, I cross to the sidewalk, back to the imitation suburb. I notice a trail of rocks, and I hop from stone to stone. It's slower and hurts a little more. As I cross the rough patch, something profound comes to me. If the rocks are like troubles, and the sidewalk like ease, they both have adventure to be found. As long as I walk across the troubles slowly,  they can't hurt me. I giggle. I don't think it's profound, just me being me- histrionic and adventurous. I walk- slowly, now- back to the condo, to make it home in time for dinner. My timing is perfect, and that inspires a silly thought. Maybe the Universe is rooting for my adventures. Maybe the Universe thinks it's adventure time, too.

People

There was a boy in my school. He was the boy from the bus, the boy from the church, the boy from the band, the boy from the school. He did not have a face, did not have a name. He didn't have pain or joy, he didn't have thoughts or friends. To me, at least, he was just the boy.

There is a friend in my school. He is the friend who brings smiles, the friend who brings books, the friend who is quirky. He has an average face, and an average name. He has plenty of pain, and could use some more joy. He has beautiful thoughts and has me as a friend. To me, at least, he is amazing.

No, I don't love him. I don't "like like" him, either. But I've fallen in love with his thoughts, and with his contemplation. I love him for his appreciation of the optimists, and his striving to be a little more like them. I love him for being human, and I love him in the way that I love everyone that I know.

There was a girl in my school. I saw her once, at an audition. She had a small waist and long legs. She danced, if I remember correctly. Her voice slid a bit much for my taste, was too hoarse, and too loud. But something about it pierced me all the way through and let me succumb to it completely. It was high- very. Her pointed toes tapped quickly and elegantly. I wondered if maybe I could ask for a name, and turned away. She was my superior, obviously.

There is a girl in my school.  I see her almost every day, and think of her on the others. She has a big heart and a short temper. She dances, and I dance with her. When her voice breaks, mine fills in the cracks. Our harmonies pierce me all the way through and I succumb to the music completely. Her standards are high- very. She is quick and elegant. I know her name like I know my own and I turn to her for everything. She and I are equals, and we complete each other.

No, I'm not using her. I don't fake anything. I love her more than myself, at times. Her thoughts and words are what I want mine to be. She is the happiest and brightest person I've met, but she appreciates my darker days. I love her for being human, and I love her in the way that I love everyone I know.

It's hard, when you get to know somebody, to hate them. It's impossible to hate a smile you see so often. Love and knowledge are one and the same. Forgiveness is, frankly, the coolest.

I don't think I need to give names. If they read this, that's great. If they don't, well, they know how I feel about them already.

Girls Chase Boys

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsvKT8vsgF4

Ingrid Michaelson, I love you. I really do. If you haven't heard of her, she's an older lady who wears glasses and has a soft voice, and is still as beautiful as Beyonce and her "perfect butt." And she knows it, too. She describes this as her "happy breakup song." It's like the circle of life, but relationship style. And I love it. There will be plenty of her on this page. Get excited- it's lovely.

Hey there, world!

Well, hi. My friend, who is lovely, started a blog of inspiration and all of that, (thegracefulness.blogspot.com), and I thought I could give it a try. So, hey there, world!