Zero to Heaven in Seven

It's hard for me to gather my thoughts when they're especially deep, or anything beyond what I want to eat, what I like, what I'm feeling. But I rode my bike to the lakefront today and sat on a bench in front of the marina and the hazy Chicago skyline. Between reading Kerouac's The Town and The City and text messages from my mom, I got to thinking about San Francisco and my relationships there and how they differ so much from the new ones I have here in Chicago. You see, I think the thing is, people in San Francisco (not all, but most) are too concerned with themselves and their own interests and their own wants and needs that they don't want to learn anything new, they don't want to talk and share thoughts and philosophies with each other or anyone at all for that matter. In the last month that I've lived in Chicago, I've felt more accepted than I have living anywhere else. People like to have intense conversations--whether it be about religion and what God wants for us or about nihilism and anarchy and regardless of whether I agree or not with whomever I am conversing with, my opinion is questioned for the purpose of understanding myself and making absolute certain that I believe what I said and in the end, that opinion is accepted as valid. My closest friends in Chicago are people that believe things that are vastly different than what I believe and have interests and ideas that I'd never even heard of, never mind had my own opinion of, before I met them. And all we need is just the slightest basis of a common interest. Not even multiple. Just one is all we need to get along, to have a spring board to learn more about each other and maybe over time develop more common interests based on our own enlightenment.

If you are friends with people that have only the same tastes in music, literature, religion, love, life, then there's nothing new to learn, certainly not about yourself. The people I have met here have encouraged me to question everything I believe, have turned me on to new music, new literature, new ideals, new interests and new ideas and understandings of who I am and where I stand in the world. It's not that people in San Francisco were drab and boring and mean, not at all. It's just, the only close friends I had there were people I lived with and saw every day and sort of became normal. Here, there is a sense of excitement when I have plans to go out with someone because who knows what will happen, what I will learn about myself, my society, the city, the world. It's an incredible feeling of exhiliration living here where I previously knew nobody. I love Chicago. Moving here was probably the best impulsive decision I've ever made.

My foot hurts. Can I go to the nurse?

I don't get why I care so much what people think about me. It's not even all people, just specific people that I like. I think the people that I like are the people that would never be friends with me. And if there is any hint of a mutual like--platonic or otherwise--I promptly ruin it by jumping on and smothering it out of just sheer anxious excitement that I can deal with not having it every day. Did any of that make sense? But I need to stop thinking about everybody else, and stop worrying about this person maybe liking me, or wanting to hang out with that person. I mean, I've got plenty of friends in Chicago already and many events and opportunities to make more coming up. So I should just concentrate on other things. Like writer's block. Now, I know it makes me sound like a whiney melodramatic "writer" snob, but I guess it's a real thing. And I have it. My story has been stuck where it is since I packed up my typewriter in San Francisco.

I mean, why do I want to be friends with people that don't want to be friends with me anyway? Why am I so terrified of rejection? I'm pretty goddamn awesome and if other people don't see that, that's their loss, right? Yeah, that's it. Take that! I need to stop worrying so much about the internet too. The internet, my friends, is not at all real life. This post is silly. My legs hurt from biking a ridiculous distance last Saturday. I need to eat some protein.

Fuck this! I'm going to Quiznos.

I'm 20 years old. I have a real job. And by "real" I mean an office job that I work at 40 hours a week, 2 hour commute and health benefits included. It's not all bad as far as jobs are concerned. I mean, I get to sit here at my desk right now and post a stupid blog because there's nothing else to do. What sucks though is just that--that there is nothing to do. And when there is stuff to do it's boring, menial, mindless work. Which, again, not that bad because it's low-stress. But it's silly and not at all mentally stimulating. Also, I live paycheck to paycheck which seems ridiculous for someone that has a "real job." Like right now, for example, I don't have the money in my bank account to go food shopping because I owe the State of Nevada $182 for doing 85 in a 65, I owe the city of San Francisco $65 for not putting change in the meter (and then forgetting about the ticket) and the State of Illinois is currently in possesion of a check for $143 for the Title to my car. This week, my paycheck was shorted $400 that I was going to use to--foremost--buy toys and new litter for my cat, Tom Waits and then go grocery shopping with and hopefully have some cash leftover to go to Dillinger Four tomorrow and then pay my ridiculous cable bill (living by yourself is not as awesome as it seems).

Now, of course I'm going to buy my D4 ticket in about 20 minutes and instead of going grocery shopping I'll shell out $7 to go to Quiznos and get myself a 6-meat stack with a drink and chips. See that's the problem right there. I don't have enough money to go food shopping, so I'm just going to take care of my one meal for today. Coincidentally if I ate a 6-meat stack with a drink and chips every day, I'd be even more poor than I am right now. Probably to the point of not being able to afford that cable I spoke of earlier. But that's what I've been doing the last month, eating much to expensive and much too delicious fast food--because I can't afford to go grocery shopping. So it's more than just living paycheck to paycheck but living day to day. Maybe I'll be able to buy groceries tomorrow, maybe I'll have $10 in my bank account so I can eat that day. But anyway, I think the point of this is that I am terrible at budgeting my finances because really, this job pays really well. And the cost of living in Chicago is so cheap that I'm borderline rich compared to my San Francisco friends.

I feel like I had more to say than this. I guess I don't.

The original scroll of Jack Kerouac's On The Road is coming to Columbia College in October/November and seeing as how I'm reading Edie Kerouac-Parker's memoirs of her time with him, this is more than fitting. I couldn't be happier, really. I guess I did have more to say.

Great Lake!

Back from a 4 month hiatus and living in Chicago. Oh, Speak Easily, how much there is to tell you about.

Then we sang loud in the dying streets

I would just like to take this opportunity to quickly say that I am a very happy person. I only seem to post blogs when I'm feeling down or particularly negative or confused about a certain subject. But most of the time I'm happy and laughing and smiling. I think when I'm feeling differently is when I have a lot of emotions that need to be expressed whereas when I'm happy and content it's just the norm so there's no need to express it. Does that make sense? Even with all the sadness and personal tragedy I've experienced, I can usually look deep enough and find humor and happiness and beauty in all of it.

Take that.

I'm asking you on a date for the rest of your life

You don't know what you got til it's gone.

I've been thinking about you a lot. So much a lot! I can't believe I knew you and loved you and experienced you. I feel so honored, to be honest. Four days! Four days was all it took to create a friendship that lasted the rest of your life. I can't believe I actually had to guts to hop on a train and meet you--an almost complete stranger--in Manhattan after only knowing you for a few hours. What a strange coincidence it was that we were in the right place at the right time.

Remember sitting in Union Square and being left alone and just talking. And I think that's when you told me about your dad, that he died when you were 17. And I told you that my dad too, except I was 14.

And then that night we sat on my mom's back deck and we drank beer and talked about life and the end of the world. The apocolypse! We talked about the apocolypse and I demanded you stop because it freaked me out. Do you remember?

Sitting outside the side door and having a conversation in Spanish about why we couldn't have sex that night. And you told me that your relationship was doomed to fail and I should've known then that mine was too.

Two shots of 99 Bananas and another conversation on my mom's front stoop in the warm, humid Long Island night and you kissed me. And I kissed you back and it was the most wonderful makeout session of my life. And I was scared that my mom, or my sister or your friend would catch us. But I didn't care because it felt right and it was right and I knew it was right.

And you promised! You promised me that you would move to San Francisco and you would take care of me. We'd have a beautiful apartment somewhere--anywhere--and you would pay for what I couldn't afford. You said "I think we'd make a really good couple" and I said "When my boyfriend and I break up we'll get married." and you said "I'll be dead by 30." And of course you were.

But you loved me! You really really loved me and everything there was to love (and hate) about me, you loved it all! You wanted to take care of me, you would do anything in your power to make sure I was happy and well taken care of. All you cared about was me.

I'm sorry things were so twisted and I'm sorry hindsight is so clear and I'm sorry I thought I was in love with something that ended up being a failure. It was you I was in love with, you I was weant to be with. I wish you were here with me right now. I will never love anybody the way I loved you and I'm sorry I was too blind to see what was right in front of me, waiting. That too...waiting you were waiting for me.

I was so lucky and so stupid! I love you!

You came to me like a dream, the kind that always leaves just as the best part starts

It ends so abruptly.

So far, so good. I'm updating from the wonderful Rosenberg Library at City College of San Francisco, still waiting for my laptop to come back to me. I feel pretty somber right now, blank I guess, but not in a bad way.

I cried about my dad last night for the first time in a couple of months. I was writing a piece of my story and caught the picture of him on my desk, the one of him and Chuck E. Cheese from my birthday party. Then I looked at other pictures of him and my family. It's been about 6 years since he was diagnosed and still, it all feels so surreal. Maybe that's the benefit of living away from my family, I can't see them so I can't see he's not there so it just feels like he's there and I haven't talked to him in a while. Does that make sense? I thought about it, though, last night. The fact that he's dead. I guess it's just one of those things that you never get over, when a parent dies. Maybe you can't ever get over it when anyone close to you dies. I talk a lot about getting over Jonathan's death and Daniel's death but really, maybe I never will. It's still early for them, so I rightfully shouldn't be over them yet. But who knows, maybe I will never stop being sad about that. I look back on my life with my dad fondly, so many happy and tingly feelings when I think of him. He was a fantastic dad, what a great dad. Yeah, it makes me happy to think about what we had but sometimes it does make me sad. It feels good to cry over him.

This week has been pretty great so far. I decided to take today as a lazy day so rather than riding my bike the mile to school and then the 6 miles to work and back home, I'm driving. My muscles are killing me, I guess in a good way. But I think they need a chance to recouperate before I start riding that far again. I kind of like secluding myself, so long as I have a say in it. Not that anybody's been trying to call me and get me out of the house or anything, but yeah, I can think of all that's been fucked up and be kind of angry or upset about it but not be sad that I'm angry or upset. I still hope things can work out. I hope my guy friends are right when they say that all this will take is time. I hope he was genuine when he smiled at the idea of starting over. I want him back and that feeling.

I'm still hating my job, a lot but it's been more bearable this week, maybe because the job itself coincides with my want to be alone or something? I don't know but I have an interview/test thing with Amtrak on the 14th. I can only pray to whatever being in the sky there is that it all goes well. Dream job plus an AA in liberal arts. A kickass job and not having to go to school anymore. Could anything be more perfect?

Why don't you tell me, how can I do this better?

Are you out there?
Do you hear me?
Can I call you?
Do you still hate me?

Are we talking?
Are we fighting?
Is it over?
Are we writing?

Hey. I miss you.

"Oh man! School's for fools!"

I received a phone call from the human resources department at Amtrak. I'd been waiting for this phone call for weeks, especially with the price of gas skyrocketing. See with Amtrak, I figure, I can work on the train clicking tickets (or whatever they do on Amtrak) and just getting paid to ride a train from Oakland to Auburn to San Jose or Emeryville to Bakersfield. And even, dare I say it, Oakland to Chicago. ALL THE TIME. I'd be able to get a MUNI pass, take the bus to BART to the Ferry Building and get a free ride over the bridge via the Amtrak bus. Late hours? No problem, the 38-Geary runs all night to the 91-Owl which drops me off in front of SF State. I was incredibly disappointed when the HR man left me a voicemail saying that there is no room for school in my schedule. Well, shit, I've been working for 3 years to AT LEAST get my Associate's Degree. I told my mom the news, that I'd been asked to come in for drug testing for my dream job but I couldn't do it because of school. It was MOM who asked how many classes I needed for my Associate's. It's MOM who's telling me to go for my dream job, to make it work. It's MOM who's as excited about this as me. I went to make an appointment with the VA counselor and grabbed a CSU transfer sheet to see how many classes I needed for my AA in Liberal Arts. I thought I needed a lab science and a "diversity" course (listed on the sheet in bold and italics). Turns out my Women's health class is a diversity course which just leaves a lab science. I thought I would be cockblocked for science until I saw that a Chemistry class that would qualify me for my degree was available online. Score! EXCEPT the lab needs to be taken in class. COCKBLOCKED. I decided to do some research through the interwebz on the position of "Assistant Passenger Conductor." I found a forum where an Amtrak inside released the information that lower-level employees get one consistent day off. Meaning, I'd work 5 days/week but only one day-off would be consistent each week. I cockblocked the cockblock! Of course I don't know if I can choose what day it is, but if I could, I'd be able to take Chemistry online and the lab from 6-9pm on Thursday! How perfect. Then in December I'd have my AA and I could carry on my merry way guilt-free.

Oh if only I could know for sure that this will all work out. Dream job. Hella!

Making sense of nothing, in defense of something

My thought processes are all thrown off, they defy logic and I am aware of this. Maybe I am more self-destructive than I initially though. Maybe I'm making way too much of my words and actions. As lame as this sounds, I hate myself. At least that's how I feel right now. I hate the way I react to things, I hate that I'm so dependent on others. I hate feeling like if I don't constantly have that happiness around me, then I'll never have it. I hate feeling like I can't be happy without this one thing or one person around. I had a chance to save it. Then I just cursed it out, abused it and thew it away. I need more friends. I need more anti-anxiety records to listen to. I need more love songs. I need more indepdendence.

I know that self-loathing is not attractive at all but I can't help it. I realize that this self-hate is just a fleeting feeling that will pass with time--it's just trying to figure out if it's going to be an hour or a week. I had something so fucking wonderful and I thew it away and I can't take knowing that. I want it back. I want it back so bad, I'll do anything to get it. Up to and including digging myself deeper.

And someday we will die and our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea

Over 7 months later and it's still absolutely horrifying, depressing, mind-boggling and everything else that somebody could take him away from us. Why would somebody want to do that? He was so incredible, such a wonderful soul and somebody just took it without even giving him a say. I can't comprehend this and it still brings me to tears any time I try to begin to comprehend this concept. He never did ANYTHING to hurt ANYONE, he never would even if he lived for 100 years. There was not a negative or malicious bone in his body. What a beautiful person and such a shame that it had to happen to him. I miss him more and more every day and it's just different than missing somebody else that has died. It almost hurts twice as bad, like thinking about it the monster who did this is twisting a knife in my heart, still, long after it's already happened.

Daniel, if you can read this or if you can hear me, I miss you so much. Not a day goes by where you're not on my mind. I vow to you that I will now live my life twice as hard to make up for what was so hastily taken from you. I'll cry over you when I need to but I won't take anything too seriously. I hope you are with me. Rest in peace my friend.

Let this be the end, let all be forgiven

More than ever right now, I just wish I could start everything over. I don't mean from the begining as in I have nothing. But I'd like to start all of my current and former relationships afresh. I want to eliminate my anxiety or at least control it so it doesn't destroy everything as it has been doing lately. I want to get my anger under control so I don't lash out at people that don't deserve it. I want to have a new chance to be friends with my ex, I want to have a new chance to take back that lost opportunity that I so selfishly gave up, I want to start over with the one that wasn't meant to be.

I want to get rid of my car and get a job downtown near public transportation. I want to get an apartment on 16th and Guerrero because I've wanted that forever. I want a job that doesn't make me want to kill myself. I want my friends to be not so annoyed or burdened by me all the time. I want the VA to give me the money the owe me for killing my father. I want to not be delusional. I want to be able to control my emotions. I want to not have any symptoms of psychosis or anything close to it. I want to be ok with being alone. I want my turtle to eat. I want to be stable financially. I want some beer right now.

I need to be able to fix this. I need forgiveness from everyone I've wronged in the past in order for my life to be able to move forward. I know it's a cop-out but really, I have no control over my emotions, sometimes my actions. It sounds pathetic, and it probably is. But I'm working on it. I wish I could start over to show everyone that I'm in control. But before I can even ask anyone to let me do that, I need to know that I can be in control. I need anti-depressants and mood stabilizers and cognative behavioral therapy and a new mind and a new attitude. I thought I was ok until I wasn't. I want to be sane.

I can't bear the thought that I've pushed those that I love away with my stupid idiosyncrasies. I need those idiosyncrasies to no longer exist. I need vindication.

Feathers floating on air, this is my prayer for you

I guess I have less to say than I thought I would. It's been a year since my best friend/would-be husband died. It's always shocking when the anniversary rolls around and it kind of has this "has it been that long already?" sort of feeling involved. I was confused for a while, whether I should blame this person or that person that I never got to say goodbye. It was all my fault, I suppose, for not gathering the courage to actually buy a plane ticket to Little Rock and get on it.

I met him at a Green Day concert. It's strange to look back and realize that I really only spent 4 days with him in person. But they're 4 days I'll never forget. From the free beer, to Union Square, to conversations about the end of the world, to bonding over the loss of our fathers, to drinking a lot of booze and kissing and deciding whether or not it would be a good idea to have sex. We'd decided it wasn't. But when I dropped him off at Newark airport, the thought of never seeing him again wasn't anything that had ever crossed my mind. I guess I always thought there was something bigger than both of us that would bring us together. He promised he'd move to San Francisco, he promised he'd marry me and we'd have kids together. He promised to support me financially. He asked me to come to Arkansas to be with him, he said he'd pay. He said he had plenty of money, that I'd never have to work again. Even typing it out right now it doesn't seem real. But it was, it was so real and I wish so badly that everything would have worked out. And by worked out I mean ended with us together, both alive and cancer-free. I'm glad I didn't do all the things he asked me to and it absolutely kills me to say that and know that it's true. A dead friend is much easier to comprehend then a dead husband.

I still can't believe that it happened. We talked a lot over the next year plus until it just kind of faded in a way. I still thought about him constantly. I guess it wasn't fair to any of my other relationships that I thought about him that way, both as a friend and as more than that. I was so happy to receive a text message from him when he got a new number. He hadn't forgotten about me. I asked him when he was moving to San Francisco. He said when he got better. When I'd met him, his melanoma was in remission. I didn't need to ask him what that meant. I knew he was going to die. I talked to my co-workers about him. It felt great to have someone to share all of my feelings about him with. They kept asking me why I didn't pick him and each time I couldn't come up with an answer that was acceptable to me. Now that this has happned, I don't need an acceptable answer. I just have to say "It doesn't matter, he's dead now." I guess that's my way of avoiding regret. Maybe, I don't know. Maybe I should have listened to him. I miss him so much, though. I'm forever sorry that I was too scared to go see him before he died. But he didn't forget about me. He loved me in a way that nobody can or ever will again. It's hard to know that, that nobody will ever feel that way about me. I'm still not over his death and it'll probably take a very long time before I am. I guess that's why my current "fuckin' and suckin'" philosiphy is good for me. I don't have to obligate to myself to anybody while I'm clearly not over him, I can think about him all the time and not feel guilty.

I miss you, Jonathan.

If we're never together, if I'm never back again, well I swear to God that I'll love you forever.

Bring it back to counter attack, this is not the end.

I think I'd like to just take this entry to say that I really miss my roommate, Daniel, more than I ever thought possible. It seems strange that I barely knew him, I feel like I've known him for years and years. And I still can't get over the verbiage I used when he posted a myspace bulletin about needing a roommate. I said "fate" and of course at the time it was just in a kind of joking manner. The effort that was required of all parties involved (me, Daniel, Greg, Landlord Edith) to get me moved in there--Daniel asked Edith to hold the room for me, I needed to scrape up $1200--it all just seems to crazy the way it went down. And now that my life is taking off in a fantastic way, it all still ties back to him. New friends, new relationships, new happiness all because of Daniel. Thinking about this is much to heavy for me right now, especially because in 4 days it will be the one year anniversary of Jonathan's death, so I will stop for now. But just don't be surprised if you see an entry very similar to this one in the near future. And by similar I mean probably exactly the same. I will never get over all of those coincidences.

Dreamed I was your landlord, I showed your place when you had lovers.

I'd like to share an excerpt from Kerouac's On The Road with anyone that may be reading:

Crossing the Oakland Bay Bridge I slept for the first time since Denver soundly; so that I was rudely jolted in the bus station at Market and Third into the memory of the fact that I was in San Francisco three thousand two hundred miles from my mother's house in Ozone Park, Long Island. I wandered out like a haggard ghost, and there she was, Frisco, long bleak streets with trolley wires all shrouded in fog and whiteness. I stumbled about a few blocks. Weird bums (it was Mission st.) asked me for dimes in the dawn. I heard music somewhere.

This sums it up for me, I think. I never felt more connected to a piece of writing than I do to this one. I still am jolted by that thought of being so far away from my mother's house on Long Island two years later. The description of wandering and the description of the fog. The weird bums of Mission Street! Yes! Yes! They're still here, Jack!

Saturday, Andy's other other band, Tatanka Iyotake played a house show. As usual, I attended via public transportation armed with a six pack (+ one) of Budweiser. I ran into people I wasn't expecting to run into, it wasn't as awkward as it could have been but there was definitely some sexual tension. I hitched a ride to 29th Street where a few people and the occupants stayed up for a while. I was just about finished with my beers and was having more handed to me.

I enjoyed some nachos and we ended up listening to Irish folk music, legit Irish folk. It was fantastic and I hope to get some of my own to listen to on my own time. As the hours passed and more beer was consumed, more cigarettes were smoked, my eyes also became heavier.

The next day was a punk generator show in Golden Gate Park. I left the Mission house and returned to mine to get my car and a breakfast bar. At the park, I met up with some dudes who were also lost and looking for the horseshoe pits where the show was being held. There was a barbecue (I'd bought some sweet italian sausage) and punk bands and skateboards and beer and soda. I interacted with few people all day and yet I still felt accepted, embraced and not-judged by those people. It was a perfect way to spend a perfect Sunday. On my drive back toward home, I gave some buddies a lift to their car. I my friends, this circle of friends. I hope to hold onto them and this feeling no matter where I live, who I live with etc. They are wonderful people and I feel that way whether I'm drunk, sober, high, low whatever. I need to spend more time with them than I do, either that or I need to turn 21.

My life is turning around. I feel an incredible sense of independence and self-sufficience. How much of this is related to re-reading On The Road I'm not sure. But I feel fantastic.

Can you hear the sound of machines all breaking down?

I wonder if there is an afterlife (which I believe there is) do our loved ones from there think it's ridiculous that we hold on to silly, trivial material things in their memory. Today I threw away my roommate, Daniel's, empty bottle of conditioner and apologized to him as I did so. He died in September, since then there's just been an empty bottle of conditioner taking up space in the bathroom. I can't help but think it to be the most ridiculous thing I've done, to apologize to the air for throwing it away. I guess it's different from the 24 karat gold pen set that my dad gave me to write my first novel with, or the typewiter that belonged to him and I'm sure he'd be happy that I hold those things so close. But, seriously, bottle of conditioner. I feel silly for even analyzing it so much.

I went to the San Francisco Zoo today for my anthropology class. This is the first time I'm taking an anthroplogy class and two months into it, I'm finally interested. We watched the Lemurs which really are spectacular creatures, the way they jump and are affectionate toward one another. One started barking and then the rest of them followed. Why can't we be more like those that we evolved from? Why is there no sense of community in the Human world? Lemurs don't care what color they are, they don't care if they're holding hands with a male or a female. They love each other and they don't care who knows it. It truly is wonderful to see but kind of terrifying that humans can't do the same.

I took the M-Ocean View to Church and Market today and then took the 22-Fillmore to Fillmore and California. I sat in a Peet's with my laptop, sipping on the same medium Mocha Freddo and working pretty intently on this story while listenening to music for 3 hours. It felt great. I got 4 pages written in a really tiny font and I'm really proud of what I wrote. I sent it off for my old Creative Writing professor to read. Hopefully he'll have some positive and constructive feedback. It's a really wonderfully empowering feeling to know that I have something that can never be taken away--my writing. I love that. I love that I can do that.

In worried piles I typed for miles

At San Francisco General Hospital on the 4th floor, room 4M there is an ophtolmology/neurosurgery/ear-nose-throat clinic. I frequented this clinic for follow-up visits after I fractured my skull in 2006. This is also where I got my eyeware prescription and I made my way back there today to get a copy of said prescription now that my current glasses are on their way out. On the way from the elevators to the clinic on the left side there's a series of inpatient wards and an intensive care unit. On the right side there's room 4E which is the ICU waiting room which I only really noticed today.

It brought back memories of waiting in the ICU waiting room at the Long Island Jewish Healthcare hospital in Plainview while I did my best but was never quite able to grasp what was going on while we waited to visit my sick Grandfather one-by-one. It was sad, especially when the family waiting with us left in tears. That was my thought today walking past 4E, especially since it appeared to be overflowing with people--the person that these people are here to say might die. Perhaps it's a morbid thought, but it made me sympathize and of course being in ICU doesn't mean certain death and of course those people could have left with all loved ones alive and well. Still it made me wonder if anyone was waiting in the ICU waiting room for me while I was unconscious. I can think of one, but I wonder if he was there with anyone else. Now, luckily, on my way out of 4M, a significant chuck on those waiting in 4E left at the same time and were laughing and enjoying each others' company. I hope that meant good things for them.

rabbit rabbit

If I've learned nothing else about love and life from Jawbreaker/Blake Schwarzenbach, I do know that the first thing you say on the first day of each month is Rabbit Rabbit for good luck.

I suppose I should begin this whole blogging experience with an introduction. But I won't. I'll just say that this is going to be a venue for me to coherently express frustrations, questions, ramblings about life, mostly human relationships, sometimes college and work. I'm not exactly sure yet but people are welcome to read, though I don't know how much people want to hear about me and my boring little life. Though I guess maybe it'll provide some insight into the life of a 20-year-old full-time student, part-time admin punk rock lady. Stay tuned!