Project Time

     So, I have decided to better myself. How you may ask, well its a little project that has been done before and does work if you stick with it. It involves going cold turkey with somethings, and doing more of some other things. Of course the way to do this successfully is baby steps.

     Now for the part that you will not believe, I collect make-up. Really, its true, when I really want to wear it, i know what to do. Highlighter for the cheeks, eyelid primer to keep everything in place, foundation, concealer, four different types of cleanser, three different eyeshadow pallattes with an 88 color one on the way thanks to my loving and wonderful roommate as a combo birthday and Christmas present(hopefully, if not, I will find a way to have it). So, why dont I put it on? Well, I am lazy as fuck in the morning, but I always seem to buy more than I need, and more that I will use. I also do not get rid of the old stuff, or use it till the silver tin is showing with the old stuff. Which comes to the cold turkey project. After today, I found a really good deal on the stuff that I use the most when I do wear it, I am not buying anything more in the cosmetic departments(yes that includes bath stuff too, =[ ), until I use up completely twenty of the things I currently have clogging up my make-up bag and drawer. I figure, hey it will help me save the money I do not have, and maybe motivate me to actually try to look cute on more than one occasion. Maybe I will wake up earlier, who knows.

    I also seem to collect school supplies, and buy more when I still have a bunch left. I guess I get this trait from my nanna. So, I am going to do the same thing, no buying any until I get rid of a good three quarters of it. Plus, it will help me save paper, and somewhat of the environment that I am ruining with all my chemicals on my face and body that constantly go down the drain.  So yes, there is the cold turkey part of the project, though it is not exactly cold turkey, just for a little while.

    Next up, is training myself to be a better student and all around person. I have done this before with being more optimistic and positive, and I think I did succeed with that. Now I am going to work on my study habits because waiting till the weekend before the test really does not work for me. So, seeing as I am in buhl for a good amount of the day where I am doing nothing on the computer. I am going to start small and devote one hour of that time to studying any subject. Maybe I can incorporate it into my time in the apartment. Who knows if it will work, but it does not hurt to try. So if you see me, tell me to get my ass back to studying in between chem and anatomy(10:20-11:20).

  So here is to working on this between the rest of this semester and next semester. Here is to a better me, and here is too a more frugal and smarter me as well.

I'm Moving On

     I have afraid to be me for far too long. Of course, the me here at Chatham is the real me, it's the one at home that is not. I guess I am just afraid that the ones at home wont like the me that I have changed into, the me that is not the normal small town girl. To me, Chatham is freedom, freedom from those who constantly berate me with their own thoughts of how I should live, how I should be. Hell two of the ones back at home are still mad that switched majors from Biology to Exercise Science(like that is a whole huge change anyways).

      At home, I am this subservient little girl who has no idea's of her own, just the constant aggreeance with her parents in order to keep things how they like it. I am not very neat, but always doing my best to please them, not to mention trying to be the perfect child. Yeah, right. I hung out with all the good smart kids(wait I still do that), and of course studied a good 24/7, much to my sisters disapproval. I was always in bed by ten at most, at home by eight unless I was working, and I worked both in a mall for a short while, then to fast food for a little while longer. I was a complete science geek, with no social life, few friends, and of course, a love for softball that could not be explained. Some of those things are still the same, but there are still quite a few things that are different. I used to be outspoken, and like it. I used to listen to everything anyone seen as a higher power would say, and agree with it. I know, I know, I was a kiss ass. A major kiss ass, and whenever I go home, I am still that person.

     But, when I am on campus, I regain my voice. I gain a bunch of confidence, and I use my words. I make people want to yell shut up on occasion. I am me, I am confident, I am everything my boyfriend hates when I am out here.  I become this me that I enjoy, not one who cares about what everyone else thinks. Without a doubt, I am my best when I am at school. Sure there may be some weekends where I am deff not, but hey, those are rare. I guess to me, getting out of Akron is what does it, getting away from all of those who keep those expectations. It is what helps me be the real me, I only wish they could see that. But I hide it every time I go home because I am afraid of what they will think. I care more of what they think then of my own feelings towards the subject.

    When it comes down to it, I have to show the real me, not the little ballerina nerd that they have always known. Sure it may come as a surprise to them that I have thoughts, but it will be a nice change, and a chance. A chance to truly be the one everyone here see's and they do not. I'm moving on in my life, and its time they see it.

Passion

  The amazing thing about the human condition, is that we have a fire burning within us all. We all contain a passion for some thing or another, a passion that drives us to do not only our best, but to succeed at all costs. 

  Today I spent by both studying for anatomy lab, and watching Legally Blonde 1 and 2. Of course that is not a productive way to study, but miraculously I did get somewhere on both ends, as I had been losing my passion for a while now. It's funny how a movie, with fictional characters, a girl with amazing hair, and a dream can somehow bring you back to your own dreams, your own passion. My goal in life, which used to be so prominent, has seemed out of my grasp no matter how much I tried, because, for a while, I lost my passion. Now, after watching Elle Woods not only get Bruiser's Bill passed, but get married to her dream man, I have realized why I am doing this, why I am spending my Sunday by studying my ass off for lab. Lab!

  My passion is derived from my love of athletics, my love of how the human body moves to create this art that can only be explained by the artists own passion. Dance is an art, with the way the body moves to create an intricate expression placed to music. Its an expression of the soul. Softball is an art; the body moving in sync to how a ball moves, running from one base to another, the circular motion of the pitchers arm, the footing of the shortstop as she creates a double play, the graceful arc that is the swing of a bat, all put to the sounds of the birds, the fans, and the smells of the earth and the grass. Basketball with its painted floor's, nets of shiny white material that reflect softly along the sheeny floor. Players that run in certain times, the arc of the ball as it is either passed, dribbled, or into the net. Soccer, football, volleyball, golf, badminton, cross country, and every other sport is an art form, and expression shown from the movements of the artists whom are the subject of their own pieces. My passion is to be the subject, to use my body in a way that can be seen as an art form to those who are watching, though they may only see the competition at hand.

  Even if I cannot always be a subject of the expression, I can always be part of the background driving force. I can be a part of a players passion by coaching, which I do now, and I can do this by being a Physical Therapist, which is my ideal career.  I can keep the fire in the eyes of a young artist by rehabilitating them back onto their playing field of choice, whether it be a gymnasium, a stage, a field, or even a swimming pool. I may not always be the artist, but I can be part of the equipment used to keep the athlete going. Sure it sounds strange, but if the player is the canvas, then I would be just a brush, touching up on the damaged parts, improving them, fixing them, making the art piece strong again. It's why I am here in the first place, and why I am majoring in Exercise Science, and why I am spending my Sunday(I could be having a spa day) studying for an anatomy lab quiz which is only worth forty points. It's why I am sitting on this futon with my leg elevated, as a surgeon has done his best to repair part of the artwork that is me, and now its up to me to rest it until it is ready to be drug along the rusty red dirt of the pitching circle, to be twisted after a swing and a solid hit, to step on first base as I am bananaing out and around, though my running may be slow. It's that art that drives me to become a PT, and to keep on helping those who want to show off their own art, though injured they may be.

  So, thank you Elle Woods, you have reminded me that in order to keep going on, I need to remember my passion no matter how small. I need to have my own "bend and snap" to keep the curiosity of the thing I love kept onto my own ways. It is not the people around you who make you passionate, it is yourself. You are the driving force of your own passion, and that is the way it is meant to be. Be your own form of passion, your own form of art, it will help you along your journey.

Paper Cuts and Damsel in Distress Syndrome

     Our past works all have hints of us in them, whether it be an art project, a fanfiction, a story, an essay, or even just a simple song we used to always sing. They all have a piece of us in them, a piece of us that relates to that specific time period in our lives. This weekend, I was looking at some of my old writings, fictions of my own, and fictions that are just fan based, made into my own story with incorporations of other writers. I will not lie, my old emails include sesshomarusprincess006, and sesshysoftball006, and svennybaby006. Very creative right?(insert sarcasm). By posting this, I am giving you permission to judge, I even had a fanfiction account, and wrote on it just about weekly with several stories, and in all of them, I realized one main thing this past weekend; I needed laid, badly. As my booski puts it with a two word saying I have heard a lot over my high school career, paper cut. Meaning that I was so entranced by these men of fictional orientation that not only was I writing stories about them, but the female lead was, well, me. I lived, breathed, and dreamt of these wonderful, villainous men(the rebellious, stoic, bad boy with longer hair still is my dream man). It was both embarrassing, and invigorating.

    I have also realized how much of the damsel in distress syndrome(DDS) I had. The main character was always being saved by these men, and now its just like why should I wait for Prince Sexy when I can do this by myself. I was not necessarily weak, but definitely a wimp. I guess some of my friends helped me stay that way for a long time, but it changed, evolved, and shaped me from that girl of early middle school/late high school, to the woman that I am today. Sure the characters had the overtone of the stubbornness I still have today, but still, something would happen and in would come Prince Sexy Rebel with a change of heart and a protection complex to save the newly submissive character from her doom. Today, I say screw that; screw Prince Sexy Rebelious Charming.  He is not what I need, not in the least.

     Its nice to think of one day having this Prince Charming, but its more of a romantic thought. A thought of the big, strong, sexy, enchanting man who will never exist in real society without being jailed for assualt multiple times. It's nice to think of being a Damsel in Distress, having to be saved from danger because Prince Charming will always be there to save you, no matter what. Its romantically satisfying to think like that, and to keep the dream going, though we all know it will not happen. Sure we may find those who are close, but never exact to our Prince Sexy standards, and it you do, then I envy you.

      I guess when it comes down to it, we all change and evolve to those we are near, and to our own changing standards of the day. We become not necessarily better, but somehow improved to our conditions and lives. I still have that same Damsel inside of me, but she has become more of a Warrior Princess over time. Working to keep me sane, and get me through my hardships, as no man is going to do it for me. They may try, but I am stubborn, and thus will get pissed and kick their asses if they try too much. So all I can say is embrace you as you are now, and know that in time, it may change for better or worse, and that your inner child will always be there, with thoughts of dragons, sexy demons, villains, good men(which are mythical creatures by the way), toys, old friends, and happy memories. So now if you will excuse me, I need to convince someone of maybe wearing a long silver blonde wig for halloween next year.

 

Closets and Basements and Fire Oh My!

Fear, an irrational distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid. 

We all feel fear in some way or another, and I guess I have quite a few fears. Fear compels us all in ways that we do not understand, for those afraid of drowning, well you miss out on quite a pool parties in our youths, and probably get made fun of for that fear. Me, well I am afraid of burning to death, closets, and basements. Don't ask me why, but closets being open scares me, so mine is always closed by the time I get into bed. If not, then I freak out and do not sleep until it is shut.  It is really irrational, but the fact that you can put something in a closet just to get it out of the way and forget about it scares me. I looked into my closet here the other day, and I completely forgot my sex boots were in there. I also hate when something falls in the closet because it was stacked wrong, I think someone, or something is in there and it scares me to death. 

My greatest fear is basements, cold, clammy, damp, old, slightly smelly basements. All basements have the same earthy smell to me, even if they are clean, and warm, and slightly inviting, they still hold a tinge of an earthy smell of death. You can place something in a basement, and no one would ever know. I mean, it is easy to banish something to a basement to never be seen again. Where do you put your old prom clothes?, box in the basement. The old toolbox, the workshop in the basement. Your old documents that you may not need anymore but can't get rid of?, into the basement you go. The dead body of the man you raped and murdered, into the basement freezer you go. The basement is a storage place of forgetting made in hell to scare the youngins who open a box that holds their parents old playboys or sex toys.(No, I never found these, I do not know if they exist, and I do not want to know). Basements are my least favorite thing to walk through, especially in older homes. Old homes creak, and crackle with every few steps, they groan, and moan, and have boilers, washers and dryers that had to be bought directly from the set of a horror movie with all the sounds they make. Sure it is irrational, but it is my fear. 

Fear is that irrational, yet slightly understandable feeling we get when something is extremely creepy. We all have them, we all face them, even if it means running up the stairs after doing laundry, or taking a very short bubble bath, wading in a kiddy pool, or lighting a match. Fear rules over us in some way, because even if we face them, do we ever not have the slight feeling of 'Oh my god, what am I doing, I am going to die' every time we walk by what constitutes our fear? So while you all ponder that, I am going to make sure my closet door is shut so I can see my manatee poster, and hope that I have enough clean clothes to last the week.

Ugh...

I cannot let anyone help me, its one of my greatest faults, and its the reasons I was sitting on the steps besides Buhl crying earlier. I hate it when people are nice to me because I am injured, or out of pity, my head hates it. My pride and ego are too large to just let me swallow them and ask for help. If they weren't then I guess I would not have fallen down the stairs earlier. Yes I fell down them, didn't hurt anything, just scared myself as I set the bad foot down hard, and scared the crap out of Ian who yelled at me for doing everything by myself.

I have never been yelled at for doing things by myself, and I could have sworn being independent is what most people want you to be. But I guess I just really need to start asking for help, though I don;t know how. It's weird, awkward, and I like to do things by myself, my way. Which that whole thing has started quite a few fights, as everyone in the DeWitt-Homa clan is that way. Its funny just to get my dad and my grandpa in the same room working on the same thing, without a female there to beat them, it just does not end well. Its funny, the men are afraid of us more than they like to argue.

this is me asking for help, as I can not do this on my own, if I could, I probably would not be writing this, and probably would have a giant gash in my forehead from falling up or down the steps. I cannot have another break down because of my ankle, the one on those steps was the third one of the day. I am slightly depressed, and def pmsing. I need help, but I can't bring myself to ask it.