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I wanted to write a blog entry today.

And then I opened up a new post and literally could think of nothing to say.

It feels that way a lot lately.

I want to have things to say. I think of things to say at awkward times, or I know I have strong and reasonable opinions about things that I should let out at the proper times. I know discussion (or even blog posts) of important things or big picture things or deep things or silly things or entertainment things is, well, important. Discussing things out loud or on paper can make life seem worthwhile.

But most of the time lately I don't feel like I should say very much, that I should keep waiting in silence.

I should wait until I have my life together more before getting into deep discussion with people I meet, I think. I should wait until I have a little more experience under my belt.

I should wait to actively have a blog until I've done more life.

What does that even mean, I ask myself as I sit in a Starbucks for the umpeenth time job hunting and trying to figure out what to do when I grow up (which is apparently now).

I don't know what that means.

I don't know what most things mean, to be honest.

I don't know what it means to be an adult. I know things that make up adulthood - bills, learning how to do your taxes, getting the store brand of crackers and coffee because you're balancing your money, not drinking all night long because you have work at eight a.m. But I have no idea what it means to be an adult. Maybe that's because it means so many things to everyone, and I'm still learning what it means to me.

I don't know what it means to be a Christian. I know things that make up Christianity - a desire to serve God, having consistent conversation with Him, thinking of God first, people second, and yourself third, committing to the fact that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. But I have no idea what it means to be a Christian. Maybe that's because it means so many things to everyone, and it's a life-long journey and I firmly believe God doesn't expect us to have "Christianity" figured out the moment we give our life to Him, we just have to give our life to Him.

I don't know what it means to be a writer. I know things that make up being a writer - drinking copious amounts of black coffee (I'm becoming a coffee drinker the longer I write), having constant internal conversations with the characters and scenes going on in your head, feeling like you're going to explode if you don't get that thing out right that second, even if it's complete and utter crap, because revision sucks but it's how we make that crappy thing a full idea. But I have no idea what it means to be a writer. Maybe that's because it means so many things to everyone, and each writer will tell you their own crazy and well, just plain crazy methods they have of writing and revising and getting inspiration, whether that be staring at people in Starbucks until an idea strikes them, staying the shower until you come up with a new character, or watching entire seasons of tv shows in the hopes of latching on to some idea you can make your own.

Huh. I said I had nothing to say. But sometimes when I have nothing to say and I don't want to say anything is exactly when things come out the best.

Desperation can be ugly, but apparently it can also get me to write when all I want to do is curl up on my bed and watch Dean kill demons and ghosts until I forget we're not best friends in real life.

'Veronica Mars' may have happened to me...

Sometimes my friends convince me to watch their favourite television shows with them.

And then sometimes I fall in lurve with a character from said television show.

And when that happens. Well. Fan fiction is written.

            Francis hoisted her bag strap on her shoulder, wondering for the hundredth time that week why their English book had to weigh approximately one thousand nine hundred and forty-three pounds.

            She stopped at the front and rang the doorbell. Logan had told her before that it was all right if she wanted to just walk straight in and back to his room, but she felt odd doing that, liked it more when he actually answered the door and walked her back. Something about really rich houses that made her feel nervous, like all the expensive furniture was going to jump out at her and bark at her for being there, as if they knew she and her aunt barely had enough money to make rent on time.

            She drew herself out of her thoughts and rang the doorbell again, thinking he was probably just playing video games with the sound up loud again. She was a few minutes early, after all.

            But after two more doorbell rings and three knocks, she wondered if he had forgotten he had told her to come over to work on their project together. She figured she could just brave it and walk herself to his room alone.

            Only the front door was locked.

            Thinking their maid must have locked it, or Logan’s crazy father was worried about fan girls finding their way in, Francis figured she could just go around back and let herself in through Logan’s parents’ bedroom patio door.

            Hoisting her bag once again on her shoulder, she trudged through the lawn to the back, planning on teasing Logan for forgetting she was coming over.

            That’s when she heard it.

            The unmistakable sound of Logan screaming.

            Dropping her bag, she raced towards the bedroom, a sick feeling pooling in the pit of her stomach.

            She stopped dead in her tracks as she felt on her own back the whip of Aaron Echolls’ belt against Logan’s bare flesh, tasting vomit in her mouth as she saw Logan’s body flinch against the pain, something close to a whimper escape his throat.

            Francis barely registered her own actions as she flung open the patio door and jumped in front of Logan’s barred back, just in time for Aaron Echoll’s next strike.

            It took her brain a second to notice the searing pain on her cheek. She took a step back, nearly toppling over if it hadn’t been for Logan, who had turned around in time to catch her.

            “Francis…” Aaron’s voice trailed off as he realized what had just happened, realized the blood beginning to trickle down Francis’ face was caused by his belt.

            “Don’t you dare touch him again.” Francis was surprised at the sound of her own voice, the low growl that came out of her throat.

            “Francis…” Aaron seemed incapable of saying anything more than her name. Backing up and nearly stumbling himself, Aaron ran out of the room, dropping the belt.

            “Frank, Frank.” Francis felt herself being spun around by Logan, his eyes growing wide at the sight of her cheek. “Oh my god, Francis.”  

            For the first time, Francis was fully aware of the throbbing under her eye. She reached up to understand why her cheek was burning, then quickly took her hands away again at the shock of pain from touching it.

            “Come on,” Logan said gently. “Let me clean it.”

            Francis grabbed Logan by the shoulder, almost shaking him. “Tell me you’re okay first, tell me that was the first and only time.”

            “Francis, come on.”

            “Logan!” Francis nearly screamed, grabbing his shoulder harder. “Tell me.”

            Logan looked down at her defeated, tears threatening to spill down his face. “No,” he said quietly.

*                                        *                                       *

           

            “This might sting.”

            Gently, Logan placed a washcloth with ointment over Francis’ cheek. Francis flinched, closing her eyes and willing herself to look tough in front of Logan.

            “I know,” he said sweetly. “It’s a witch.”

            Francis nodded no, her eyes still closed. “All good.”

            Logan chuckled before rinsing the washcloth and placing it again over her cheek. “You don’t have to be so tough around me all the time, you know, Frank.”

            Francis didn’t answer, just clutched at the sink counter, trying to think about anything but the pain in her cheek.

            “There,” Logan said after a moment, taking the washcloth off her cheek. “That should keep it from getting infected. Just make sure to keep it clean. Hopefully you won’t get a too-visible permanent scar. Tell all the kids at school you had a skating accident or something, make you look tough.”

            “A bar fight might be a bit more tough,” Francis deadpanned. “Or maybe a knife fight.” 

            “I’m sorry,” Logan whispered, too ashamed to say any more, letting his gaze fall to the floor tiles.

            “Hey,” Francis said. “Hey, look at me.”

            Looking up first at the ceiling, Logan finally closed his eyes before opening them again and looking at her, trying not to let himself go.

            “Listen,” Francis started again. “Don’t ever apologize to me again for actions you do not deserve. You could never, ever deserve what that man does to you, Logan.”

            “I know,” Logan said quietly, looking down at the floor again. “It’s just. You don’t need to get involved in stupid family drama. You’re my friend. I never meant to do that to you.”

            Neither said anything for a moment, Francis trying to figure out how to tell Logan that it didn’t matter, that she wanted to be in every part of his life, even the bad parts.

            “Why’d you do it, Frank?” Logan finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

            “He was hurting you,” Francis said honestly. “I can’t handle anyone hurting you.”

            Logan lifted his head and looked up at her, a mix of confusion and need in his eyes. Before he could talk himself out of it or change his mind, he reached behind Francis and pulled her lips to his.

            Francis stayed still for a moment; that was not at all what she had expected him to do. But as his hands moved to her neck, holding her face in place, she felt herself slipping into him.

            Catching her up in his arms, Logan bent down to continue kissing her, hoping this actions said more than his words ever could. 

Notes from a service

I've been going to this new church the past two Sundays called Fellowship, and the pastors there have been remarkable at seeming to know exactly what I should hear.

Some of it is just too wonderful not to share:

There is no way we can ever rationalize our way to understanding God. If the base of our knowledge and relationship with God is not all about His glory - doing everything for His glory - then the rest will be easily knocked down.

God is not a giant teddy bear of love and happiness. His glory is the most powerful and fearful, but His love allows us to be with Him despite ourselves. We cannot put our human rules and regulations on God. We are the light of the world, but the light is not ours - we are a reflection of God's light.

If you come to God with a true heart, God unleashes all of Himself on you for the power of your salvation because His glory is at stake.

We were designed to be filled with passion and desire by God. But we try to be filled by our culture instead, and we will never feel full because we do not have what we were DESIGNED to have without God.

There is nothing wrong with your need for love, it is where you go to get it. We were made to impact the world, whether it's to be a singer or a gardener or a filmmaker or making socks. But it cannot be on human terms or it will never be enough. Our lives must be on God's terms.

How our culture works: !!!!!LUST!!!!!!GREED!!!!!!PRIDE!!!!!!! could be a problem...

Honest Laughter

I’d heard his laugh, the one he offered people when he was being sarcastic or didn’t know them or just didn’t care, I’d heard that one lots of times before.

But his laugh, his real laugh, that was somethin’ he kept to himself most days. Some days, though, I got lucky. Some days, he would forget to stay guarded and honesty would come out in his laugh.

It made everyone around him smile – you couldn’t help yourself. He’d pause for a minute and you could see his face relax, the protective and worry lines vanishing as his eyes changed colour in preparation.

And then his head would go back and his smile would broaded.

And then he would laugh.

It lasted plenty long enough for you to enjoy it, but you never really wanted it to end.

It was that kind of laugh.

It seemed to echo in the room after it was over.

He would keep smiling and chuckling for a bit after the laugh. Like he himself wanted to hang onto it.

But eventually the lines would creep back into his face and his eyes would change back and the honesty would be replaced with his regular cheekiness.

And then I would go back to my desk and wonder how I could get him to laugh again tomorrow.

I think love includes respect. I think.

[I think the older I get, the more frazzled I get when I try to say out loud frustrations I have with people or opinions on things. The good news for me is that the older I get, the more I rely on writing things down in story format to say all the things I wish I could look you in the eyes and say.]

            “I know you think I’m innocent and therefore stupid,” she said spinning around to face me, a fire in her eyes I had never seen before, “But let me tell you something about me. I wasn’t just born with innocence, I worked hard to become this way and I cling to it every day.”

            “What’s the point?” I mumbled, turning my back on her and taking another shot. I had lost count of how many that made my nightly count.

            In the shock of her grabbing my shoulders and almost violently turning me back around, I dropped the shot glass.

            “Do not turn your back on me, Samuel Baylor,” she said, her voice scarily low and quiet. I gaped at her – I had never seen her like this, and I’m not sure I ever wanted to again.

            Before speaking again, she grabbed the bottle of vodka from the counter and took a swig straight out of the bottle. “You think my persona of positivity is a sham, I know. You think I don’t know the world because I want everyone to get along and show respect to each other. Let me tell you, Samuel Baylor, I know a thing or two about the world. I know what it’s like to have unwanted hands holding you tightly and telling you they know what you want so you might as well let them give it to you. I know all to well the feeling in the pit of your stomach like your insides are rotting when you get a phone call saying a friend you love dearly died, or someone in your family has a terrible disease. I know what it’s like to be told you’ve been cheated on or you aren’t good enough for a friendship or you’re not worth enough for someone to care. I know what loneliness feels like, I know what desire is and I know what frustration is. Just because I seem innocent doesn’t mean I actually am. Don’t you ever forget that I have stories I’ve never told you, Baylor. There are things about me that you don’t deserve to know, so you don’t know them.”

            I stood dumfounded, staring at her like an idiot. The almost annoying cheerful disposition she always carried with her was gone, and I was afraid of this girl I was seeing standing next to me now.

            “Megs,” I began, but she cut me off right away.

            “You depend too heavily on my blithesome attitude. You’ve come to expect me to be always sunny and twinkly. But you remember this, I’m human. I choose to be this way.”

            “Why?”

            It was a dumb question. I half expected her to laugh at me and walk out on me after I uttered the word, but instead, she just sighed.

            “Because maybe if I smile at people, maybe if I offer words of encouragement instead of snarling a hurtful remark, maybe if I am patient and gentle instead of snarky and cocky, maybe just maybe if I show the world respect, it will show it right back to me.”

            I felt a laugh bubbling up in my throat, but I tried to push it back down. We were in this conversation now, whether I wanted to be or not, and we might as well finish it. “The world’s never going to be nice to you, Megs. We live in a fallen world, remember? I know you believe that, I’ve heard you say it.”

            She tipped her head to one side and squinted her eyes at me, like she couldn’t understand what I was saying. “Just because we live in a fallen world doesn’t mean we can’t make it better, Baylor.”

            She let her words sink in and take effect before continuing.

            “There’s a difference between hating the actions of people and hating people. I hate a lot of actions. I hate rape and mental abuse and physical violence and harsh words and bad drivers who think the road is theirs alone.”

            I couldn’t help my laugh at the last one, but she smiled, so I knew it was all right.

            “But I don’t hate the man or woman who was so desperate to be in control of someone they allowed anger or power or lust to take over and assault their victim. I don’t even hate the driver who felt the need to show me one of his fingers after he turned in front of me and I exercised my horn. I wonder what got them to that point.”

            “I don’t understand,” I said. It may have been my drunken state of mind, but I wanted to connect with her words.
            “What good is it going to do anyone, including me, to sit here and throw their name in the dirt or bash their reputation? Nothing. None whatsoever. But what good is it going to do if I try to understand them and their motives and show them kindness, maybe something they’ve never been shown before? It could just make all the difference, at least in their lives, in the world. I’m not naïve, contrary to popular belief. I don’t dance around in fairyland, thinking that everything’s golden and rainbows and perfect. Far from it. But nothing, and I mean nothing, good ever comes from a rotten attitude or hatred. And maybe nothing good will come from smiling at strangers and showing respect to authority figures even when I strongly disagree with them or holding back my harsh words to the lady who cut in front of me at the grocery store. Maybe. Maybe they’ll just think I’m crazy. But I haven’t given them any reason to hate me or show me disrespect. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll smile back. And,” she finished with a laugh, “We all know how much I love seeing people smile.”

Best Friend

[Because why not?]

She's been doing a lot of things alone these days.

She goes to the movies by herself on these little dates.
Not like she pretends a boy is actually taking her.
No, she takes herself.
She buys herself popcorn and asks for extra butter without blinking an eye.
She takes her time deciding which seat is the best in the theater, getting there twenty minutes early to really think this through.

She gets takeout for three and smiles as she tells the hipster waiter that no, she's not expecting company, she's going to eat it all herself.

She sits on her bedroom floor after washing every item of clothing she owns and folds it all, neatly organizing her closet by season like a sane person.

She puts on that music playlist she doesn't admit she has in public, having twenty minute dance parties and singing at the top of her lungs, only pausing to ask the lead singer - who is obviously smiling at her from her recliner as she belts out his melody - how she sounded.
She laughs overdramatically as she answers for him, "Why are you not lead backup singer?"

She tries new things with her hair.
In high school, she wore it long and wavy, just the way the magazines told her the boys liked it.
She may have been grumpy and snappy at the said boys because she had to wake up two hours before school, but at least her hair looked fabulous.
In college, she wore it Short And Sexy, as the tv program told her to do if she wanted to Be Taken Seriously.
Everyone took her seriously, except her.
But now she was playing. Curling it at 11 at night just to see what it would look like with short curls. Seeing what kind of braids she could do with still-semi-short hair. Spending hours on the internet looking at pictures of celebrity haircuts, not to remind herself of how wrong and ugly she was, but to get ideas for herself and decide what she liked just because she liked it.

She made goals for herself for no reason at all.
Going a full week without makeup.
Rewarding herself with chocolate after wearing heels for an hour without kicking them off.
Trying those machines at the gym that the beefy guys always used that terrified her.
Getting up before dawn just to watch the sun come up in the quiet stillness of being alone with the world.

She wasn't Figuring Herself Out like drama queens do in high school.

She wasn't Discovering Herself like the high-on-life kids did in college.

She was befriending herself.
She was loving herself.
She was.

This land is your land - the land of friendship. Stay there.

I just saw a gifset from a cartoon show that possibly shook me up more than most things do.

Well, this is my brain.

"I was in the friendzone," it said, "and before I knew what was happening, he pulled me into the romance zone. It was like quicksand."

This is upsetting for how true it is.

Not to brag - more like the opposite - but I've been that mopey person in the friend zone and the one that designates friends to stay in the friend zone.

Frankly, I'm not sure which is worse.

I'm sure everyone who has put friends in the friend zone can back up with good reasoning why it was paramount they create their own friend zone. I know I had very clear reasons for forcing my male friends into this territory.

So why is it so bad? Why is the friend zone really so bad? I mean, I put someone there because I knew I couldn't trust myself with anything more with them or I knew I'd just hurt them or get hurt if we were anything more than friends or I didn't have any feelings for them beside friendship and I knew I never would. I thought I was doing right to show them to their designated land.

But somewhere along the way, I forgot they had feelings too. I forgot it wasn't all about me. I forgot to talk to them and explain why I so dearly wanted their friendship and nothing else. I forgot to listen to their side of things. I forgot you can't just move people around a chess board - or a friendship board - and hope they play by the rules.

I wish they would.

I wish I would too, when I've been in the friendzone.

I like to think I'm more mature now, that I can control my emotions, that that's just part of growing up and sometimes it sucks but we are the product of a Fallen World.

Thank God God never puts me in the friend zone. Thank God He is always calling me to walk beside Him and hold His hand, even when I think I've been abandoned in the friend zone, or I think I can never be forgiven for the sins of putting people there.

Thank God for God being God and not me.

http://julie-fish.tumblr.com/post/60992113832/vespidaequeen-uchidachi