My Own Private Dream

There are too many days where I just long to drop everything. Let it all slid out of my fingers, fall to the ground, and leave it there. If I could, truly could, I would live in a cottage by the sea. Cut up my credit cards. Walk away from the internet. Put my phone on the sidewalk curb and never pick it up again. Disconnect myself from the "world" and learn how to open my eyes a bit wider, a bit longer, a bit stronger.

The sea breeze fluttering through my hair, setting each wisp a'flutter. In a long skirt, sitting in a decaying field, feeling each grass blade poke me in their best efforts at getting my attention. Picking fresh fruit from drooping tree branches and marveling in the wonder of how quickly the apples have ripened. Under the trees with a book to read in the morning sun. The sound of string violin overtures filling every pore of my being until I feel like the melodies live in my throat. Dancing with the wind in the sudden falling amber twilight and losing my laughter in its grip as I spin, spin, spin alone, locked in my own private dream.

It's a big shame to me that I cannot.

At least not yet. Soon, sooner, soonest. Somewhere, someday.

Love to you all,
Heather

Brothers

On Saturday, I went to sleep and dreamed. I saw a raining gray sky and my brother, the middle one Neil was there with me. He was waiting for a bus. I gave him money and balled it up tightly into his hand. Then I got into a car and drove away. It struck me while I was driving that wait, what I was doing? I could drive him where he needed to be! I turned around and drove back to the bus stop and parked. I got out of the car. He was gone and the skies continued to pour down on me, soaking in that gray sky.

I woke up on Sunday to my parents calling me. I ignored the call because it was 7am. My apartment doesn't get very good cell reception service either so if I did answer, I'd lose them before I even said hello. I called them back around 10am. In my experience, when they call at early hours it can only mean bad things have happened.

My Mom told me my brother Neil had been hit by a car. He was riding his bike and crossing at the crosswalk. An old woman hit him, not paying attention to what was in front of her. He hit the windshield and cracked it to shreds. Luckily, he was only a block away from my parents' house. Our neighbors went to go get my parents and they all went in an ambulance to the hospital. He stayed there where the doctors put a neck brace on him and ran tests to be sure he wasn't suffering from any brain clots or internal bleeding.

He's quite fine now. He went to school on Monday and everything. In a very strange way, it was as if it never happened. Though since the police ticketed the woman and my parents are resorting to legal action with an attorney, it did. I spoke to Neil on the phone briefly where he said he felt fine and hoped to see me for Christmas. I felt lumpy in my throat and told him, "We'll see." about the holidays. I can't go home though. I don't get the vacation time for it from work.



This is the second significant time I know I've disappointed my brother. I have three brothers, Earl, Neil, and Ethan. All younger than. There is a two year age gap between Earl and I, and 10 years with Neil, 12 with Ethan. The first time I disappointed my brother, it was Earl. I was 13 at the time and in my tweenager, angry phase. The phase I went through where I would come home and throw everything in my room for no reason but to throw things. Earl and I used to play with stuffed animals together and would take them on adventures as children. We were very close. Once I remember having a terrible nightmare and running to his room where he slept and I sat on the edge of the bed, still scared, but close to him so I knew nothing would touch me. So, Earl at 11, comes to my door with his arms full of stuffed animals and eagerly calls out to me, "Hey Heather, want to play?" with a big wide grin on his face.

"No!" I shouted back, enraged, "I'm too old for that. Leave me alone!"

I'll never forget the look on his face in my entire life. It was the most crestfallen expression, so lost. He saw in that moment that I was growing up, even though I feel like for my entire life I've been forever growing up. With his hands still full of stuffed friends, he turned and went back to his room.

If my future self could have, she would have slapped me across the face and screamed at me. Life is too precious, too short, and too full of sadness and the loss of innocence for me to have behaved like that. But I did. I kept it up for too long with all of them. Sometimes I'm so ashamed of how horrible of a person I was then that I can't even look at myself in the mirror. I want to smash the glass. For as much as I try to make everything look just right on the outside, I'm just a mess on the inside, swimming in a sea of regret and wondering just how much longer it will be before I drown in the memories of the sea. The good thing is that my brothers are forgiving and I am learning and have learned over the years how to stop being my own number one priority and put everyone before me. It's a much better me these days than the old girl I used to be.



My brothers and I are all quite the same and different at the same time. Earl loves video games and is the military right now where he's growing up into a man. Neil loves to bike and idolizes skateboard legends. Ethan is deeply immersed in art and music at all times. We all move to the beat of our own drums and seek comfort in the arms of one favorite stuffed toy, something that will most likely hold true with all of us no matter how we age. We all tell jokes with each other and love to make one another laugh until tears flow. I am fiercely protective of them, especially Earl. When I was in middle school, I threw a boy up against a wall after a church Sunday school service for teasing him. My all-black wardrobe at the time scared everyone in the grades below me and this boy was no exception. Earl with his eyes shining, thought it was the coolest thing ever. I used to dream of saving him when I was little, running and pulling him out of harm's way just in time. The older I got, and the more he began to stick up for himself, the less I dreamt like that. But the feeling never left. I'd sacrifice myself for any one of them in a heartbeat. In no way is my life ever more precious than theirs. Simply no way.

Last summer, my parents and I decided that if something should ever happen and they were to die suddenly in an accident or otherwise, I would be the legal guardian for Neil and Ethan. (With responsibilities for Earl, but he's only 3 months from being an adult so he isn't considered to be part of this responsibility pile.) Sometimes I wonder about this. It would change my life forever if something happened to them. What would I do? Would I get on a plane and go home, sell the house, lock everything into a storage unit and take them back to California with me to move into a different apartment? Would I just move home and live in the memories like a modern-day Miss Havisham? Would I sell everything and move the three of us somewhere new to start over fresh where nobody knew who we were? A different state? Or a different country? I don't know and I hope I am never in the position of losing both of my parents to find out. Nobody knows how they'll act in a different circumstance until the moment hits them and then they have to find out in that moment.



Anyway, the point of this post is just to say I love my brothers very much. I know I have a funny way of showing love, but when I say it, I always mean it truly and fully. I don't say it often, but I should start. Because I love too many people in my life to never let them know how much I do.

If you're reading this, and I know you, I love you.
If you're reading this, and I don't know you and never met you or maybe we met once or twice or three times but I forgot your name or I can't place you for the life of me, I still love you.

And if you're reading this and you're related to me, know that the sea of regret I used to swim in, I have since parted. I sail on my new sea of understanding and quiet love for all of you.

Forever until forever.

Love to you all,
Heather

P.S. This was a very difficult post to write.

Autumn on My Mind

In between reality and dreams, I am consistently thinking of one season. Fall. It has been said that most magazine editors are in autumn mode during the summertime. I'm right there with them. I've been craving leaves to crunch in, gray skies, the cool wind to whip at my hair, carved pumpkins outside, and hot cups of tea.

The fashion in particular is my primary thought right now. Cardigans, scarves, coats, boots. I haven't worn boots since high school, but this year I'll invest in a pair. Along with the following musts:



Her entire outfit. Most notably the canvas satchel and thick-heeled Oxfords.



A thick cardigan, preferably in the color Heather Gray (always happy to be referred to as a color), or Oatmeal.



Patent Oxfords. I had to resist the urge to keep from screaming with glee at this photo. Is it not perfection?



Hmm, a boyfriend cardigan would do quite nicely too.



Some more opaque stockings.

Let them have the pools and dripping glasses of lemonade. I will eat my oatmeal and wistfully pine for the impending months of September/October/November.

Love to you all,
Heather

Oh, The Places You'll Go

Well hot damn, I won another award! This one is from Miss JoJo at Newlywed Adventures, which is just a terrifically written and very funny blog about married life.



You're Going Places, Baby. The rules of this award are to write down where you see yourself being in ten years and to then pass this award on to ten people.

Off we go!

In ten years, I will be 32. I'm good with that. Society teaches us to fear aging, but with age comes wisdom and experience. Why would anyone want to stay in their awkward phase forever?



I'd really love to open up a bookstore of my own. When I was a little girl, I used to go to this bookstore downtown that closed at midnight every night, had two floors of books with each section designed to look like its genre (history, with globes and darker pine coloring, children's in a pale castle) and had a bar with a restaurant. I repeat, a bar with martinis. There was no overpriced coffee, no WiFi, no texting, no Facebook. The neighborhood was filled with boutiques, art galleries, houses, and cafes. This was, and still remains, the most progressive bookstore I ever spent my time in.

The times changed and my beloved bookstore went under around 2005. I went back and filmed the place for my senior year film project explaining "Who Am I?" and to my understanding, it is still empty. The art gallery across the street folded and the neighborhood has since seen the rise of Starbucks fill it.

So I'd rebuild my dream bookstore. Concentrating on books primarily and no. coffee. shops. inside. In fact, I believe all cell phones should be held at the door. Whenever you're reading, time shouldn't matter. Texts shouldn't interrupt the process. The words should simply be your world.



The first room of any place I live that is filled up first and truly homey? The closet. I love clothes, shoes, handbags, and I'd sooner live without furniture than be deprived a blouse I wanted.



I am addicted to flying and being in airports. I love going somewhere, even if that destination is unclear. People watching is the best in airports, try it sometime! By the time I'm 32, I've probably have acquired frequent flyer miles like nobody's business.



I will have replicated this entire outfit!



I want to bring back the liquid lunch! Seriously now, NOBODY is fooling me with those plastic bottles of water during a meeting. Deep down inside, while Mr. BigShot BossMan is yammering about the Dow Jones falling over the last fiscal year, you're thinking to yourself, "It's sure is hot outside. I could go for a Mint Julep. Or a Gin and Tonic. Or pretty much anything that's booze on the rocks."

I am fully aware that right now, while I'm looking for jobs and including little "check out my blog!" blurbs in my cover letters, that writing about the need to bring alcohol to a business meeting will not be looked at kindly. This isn't about getting drunk though. This is just one drink to loosen everyone up at the table and get the ball rolling without the initial stiff moment at the beginning where nobody wants to raise their hand or worse, you have to play some sort of stupid name game where you throw a little beanbag from person to person.

Right? Chin Chin!



I'm the kind of girl who when people sit around talking about how many calories are in this or that or trans fat, etc, I feel compelled to eat a big sandwich right in front of them. At 32, my sweet tooth will still be alive and well.



Never forget being a kid at heart. This includes just coloring for the sake of coloring. It's cheap fun that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy.



By the time I'm 32, Lindsay Lohan and Miley Cyrus will be grown up too. Wrap your mind around their future, trampy, "I'm not old!" outfits for a minute. For that matter, envision what Heidi Montag will look like or the sheer craziness that Amy Winehouse will probably still be alive.

Never fear, I plan on dressing vintage and tastefully retro for the rest of my life. For this reason alone, I sort-of feel like aiming to be famous because then girls would have a good role model to look up to for dressing their age.

Emma Watson and Zooey Deschanel will be grown up too. All is not lost!



Being a kid at heart, by the time I'm 32, maybe science will have made it possible to truly play the game of Jumanji like it's played in the movie.



I also want one of these dollhouses. I'm not kidding. It's been a lifelong dream of mine. The stairs alone have won my heart.



If you visit my Tumblr or know me in real life, then you'll know I love this man. Ralph Fiennes is definitely my future husband.



Here's where I'd like to live at 32. Secluded enough to hide away, but not cut off from the rest of the world entirely.

This award also calls for me tag 10 people who are going places. Believe me, these 10 ladies are going places most definitely!

City of Dionne
Dancing Branflakes
Dibbly Fresh
Drollgirl
Georgina Dollface
I know, right?
just a small town girl
Literary Crap
Melanie's Randomness
the lovely dove

Love to you all,
Heather

High School Crush Deja Vu

Initially this post was going to be heavier in content because lately life has turned into a fork in the road with me wondering which side to choose. But I'm getting a bit tired of writing about my twenty-something panic attacks over decision-making moments, especially since I've been having these moments for almost 10 years now (The first one was when I was 13 and had one of the biggest identity crisis's you can imagine in which I did not know anything about myself anymore and had to start fresh. Plus, I was incredibly angry at just about everything and everyone and entering my Goth phase. Yep, gotta love puberty.)

Onward to a lighthearted post!
We'll call this one: "The Sudden Realization That I Dated a Guy Who Looked Like My Old TV Crush."



When I was 16, getting home by 4:30 in the afternoon was critical for me. This was before I had two jobs and did way too many extracurricular activities. A simpler time where I was just a girl who enjoyed having a stack of Oreos and settling into the couch to watch one of my favorite programs, The Tribe.

The Tribe, a New Zealand TV series that aired on a network called Wam!, was about a post-apocalyptic society ruled by teenagers. A few years prior, a deadly virus spread through the city, wiping out most of the adult population who sent their children away to a virus-free place to live. It sounds like a lame premise for a show, and in the wrong hands, it could have very well turned into something starring camera-friendly almost 30 year olds attempting to portray 16-19 year olds, in designer threads. However, it stayed very much realistic to the idea of what this sort of future would look like. The biggest concerns were getting water, food, and electricity. Survival was key and outside "tribes" threatened this way of life. You knew which tribe was which by the way each group dressed and decorated their faces. And you know, there were relationship issues tossed in there too to liven it up. It was fairly normal to lose boyfriends and girlfriends and become attracted to others and get pregnant and occasionally, someone would die which is true to life.

The series had been on the air for 4 years and at the time I started watching it, it was heading into its 5th and final season. Of course, my real motivation for watching this show had nothing to do with the plot. I was in it for the enormous surplus of attractive guys littering this show.

The nice thing about The Tribe was that it contained a TON of characters with new ones added every season. There were about 8 or more revolving plot lines at any given moment, most of which featured guys with Kiwi accents. And you wonder why I literally ran to my house after school was over to watch this show.

Current state of dress at 16: black, black, some red, and more black.
Current state of mind at 16: scowling, angry, living in this idea that I knew more than most people, particularly my parents.

Naturally, I was only going to be attracted to a character that embodied these traits...



Ahh, my crush on Ram, the leader of the Technos tribe. He was brilliant, but ruthless, germaphobic, and a manipulative asshole all rolled into one dictator package. Oh, and a polygamist with 3 wives. Gotta love the little red hair horn spikes too.



Ram was fairly divorced from reality. He spent the majority of his time tucked away into a little virtual universe he created for himself online which was made to fit his taste in everything he liked. Of course, throughout the series, this virtual world falls apart and Ram learns how to make friends, and become a better person.



So I had a big crush on him. On the actor Tom Hern who played Ram to be specific. I'm what you might call "special" when it comes to liking guys. For every Ralph Fiennes or Robert Downey Jr. I wind up getting hearts in my eyes over, there's a Mickey Rourke right behind them. This is why I have an enormously difficult time describing my "type" to people. Namely because I don't think I really have one. When I like a guy, there's no telling just what I will like in them. No way of knowing really. *shrugs shoulders*

Come to think of it, I made some collages of Ram/Tom Hern back in the day. Basically, when I was younger and liked celebrities I made collages of them and taped them on the back of my bedroom door (or ceiling...). I still make collages today, but they're mostly of clothing with the majority of these images finding their way to my Tumblr.

The Tribe ends its run and I forget about Tom Hern until one Saturday morning 2 years later when I pretty much spit out my cereal during the Power Rangers opening credits. His name was in it! Wonderful 30 minute watching ensued for the next couple of Saturdays.

By the way, let's have that image sink in. I'm 18, watching Power Rangers for a hot guy, and eating Peanut Butter Cap 'n Crunch on Saturday morning while the majority of people in my senior year high school class are still hungover from the previous evening. I'm regressing back to childhood each day it seems.

4 years pass and I'd more or less forgotten about Mr. Hern in favor of other men. For whatever reason, I looked the show up on YouTube after graduating and was delighted to find every episode on it! Huzzah! I settle in and begin watching.



...

It dawns on me midway through that Tom Hern looks very familiar to a guy I knew. I wrack my mind trying to place the faces. Who? Who is it?

Oh dear God. He looks just like "S", a guy I briefly dated in December.

"S" was this guy I wound up picking up at the club Sunset. He was nice. The trouble was that he was very handsome if you had been hitting the bottle (or martini glass) for awhile. Once that wore off, he was...alright looking. Cute(ish), but I preferred the cute(r) version my drunken brain cells had of him.

Naturally, this went south before any relationship had the time to take place. I was still hung-up over "R" (the infamous ex), and not motivated to be anyone's girlfriend which to his credit, "S" respected and didn't push me to be with him.

I can't believe it took me that long to realize that "S" and Tom Hern looked alarmingly similar. Some girls dream of dating or being with guys that look like their TV crushes. When it actually happens, it's strange. Nothing plays out the way you envisioned it would in your head.

This led me to vow never to date my fictional TV character's real-life doppelganger.

Unless it's a Don Draper/Jon Hamm lookalike. Then that reasoning and logic doesn't matter.

Love to you all,
Heather

Breathe Me

I graduated on Saturday from college with some of the loveliest people on the planet. After the ceremony, I went out to lunch with my roommate and her boyfriend, visited my professors one last time, and hung out with some of my besties for one last time.

It was the loneliest feeling, being alone in the dorm. All of my world packed into 5 suitcases. Some of that world I had mailed home including sentimental pieces like my birthday tiara and some copies of The Word that had my story published in it. There was no furniture to surround me, no other people in the room, no warm light from little desk lamps, or collages made placed in the room.

How could I have stopped the tears from flooding my face? I sat in the bathroom and wept as quietly as I could, because this is the end of these moments. This is the beginning of something else, somewhere that wasn't that campus, someones who would be new to me, and somewhat everything I imagined falling into place.

I wonder about the people we will become.

Who we will we be. Who will we see. How will we look in a year or so.

There is no doubt in my mind that my friends will go on to the greatest of things.
My roommates and some of my other junior friends will continue to be at the university for another year and in one year's time, I'll be sitting there in the bleachers watching them graduate, excited and ready to take piles of pictures.



A picture at a party of my very closest girlfriends...Randi, me, Sara, and Stacy.

These three I'm going to miss more than anything. They're just such remarkable girls and we've all been through so much together.

Sometimes when I look at them, I get the briefest flash of what their futures look like in my head. I see each of them smiling, laughing, being beautiful, and fulfilled forever.

Whenever I feel lonely, I listen to music that reminds me of my friends. One song in particular that always makes my heart thoughtful is Sia's Breathe Me. If you ever watched Six Feet Under, it's the song that plays during the montage in the series finale. The finale that every time I watch it, I burst into tears in. It's a gorgeous song that says so much. I think you should listen to it...



Love to you all,
Heather

Travellin' Girl

Does anyone else have a difficult time packing up their lives? I don't understand it. I mailed 4 boxes of stuff home, donated lots of clothes, and STILL I'm packed to the brim with no breathing room in my luggage.

*le sigh*

It's been a busy week what with finals and trying to get my life on track. Luckily, the life track includes a job interview on Sunday afternoon, the day I arrive in SF at Lush, with 3 apartment viewings on Monday morning (ahhh!).

And just in case things fall apart there (you can never be too careful), I can move back to Calabasas to live with two good friends of mine and work out there. Having a plan B is pretty swell.

Not much else to say. Need to pack some more today, write a paper, go to dinner with my friends, mail a letter, etc. My life just keeps staying busy :)

Love to you all,
Heather

Haute Couture and Getting Hauter

This is Evie Cottrell’s big wedding reception moment. Evie is standing halfway down the big staircase in the manor house foyer, naked inside what’s left of her wedding dress, still holding her rifle… Nobody’s all the way dead yet, but let’s just say the clock is ticking.
–Invisible Monsters

Have any of you read Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk? I've been revisiting it because the imagery is just fantastic. Plus, I feel just like Evie Cottrell right now. Ready to go out with a bang.

You know, there's something to be said when people on campus are asking you when the new update on your blog will happen. Patience, darlings. I've had a helluva week and we're only at the hump day.

Recaps, in single sentences, of the things I've done and had happen this week:

1) Done with the play. Exhausted, but glad.

2) The ex was definitely on drugs Saturday night at dinner. You don't just start sweating like crazy and spacing out of nowhere. It scared me. I've never seen that side of him before. Made him less and less attractive.

3) I met one of the most handsome young men I've ever seen yesterday at a presentation. You go to my school? You're in my year? We never ran into one another? How is this possible? I think you are lovely and well-read.

4) I got a hug that was covered with the essence of Jon Hamm from one of my friends who got to be in the same room as him Saturday night.

5) Some (not all) human resources people like to go on power trips. You are not God. Stop it.



6) No sleep is bad.



7) My presentation for Festival of Scholars was one of the best things I've done in a long time. I got the opportunity to sing "Street Life" by Randy Crawford with one of the professors...never thought that would happen!

8) You can download "Charlene (I'm Watching You)" by Stephen and the Colberts anywhere for free. Sweet.

9) Simon & Garfunkel literally saved my life on Friday morning at work where I thought I was going to scream at everyone. Then I remembered the song "America", hummed it to myself, and the moment passed.



10) I wish I could be a Band-Aid like Kate Hudson in Almost Famous. I wish my generation's music was that good too.

Also...most importantly, I learned this: There will be no dull, tedious jobs in my future. No, thank you. I'd rather barista forever and write late at night because at least when you make coffee, you can make it pretty and nobody tells you how to do it because they don't know an espresso machine any better.

Evie Cottrell may not be my role model in this kind of profession. Maybe it's my old favorite Cyd Charisse from Gingerbread. She was an San Francisco girl, after all.

Just like I will be, very soon!



Love to you all,
Heather

Bright Young Things

“An inordinate passion for pleasure is the secret of remaining young”
-Oscar Wilde

I thought about writing about Friday in this post, but when I reevaluated the weekend as a whole, it was Saturday that took the cake and will continue to for the rest of the week.

I woke up on Saturday morning slightly hungover to the sound of my phone vibrating like mad on the windowsill next to my bed. Hungover is not how I usually wake up, but this month it seems like all of my friends happen to be turning 21 or just have a birthday in general. Friday evening was my good friend Sara's birthday and Saturday was my roomie's 21st celebration.

Eventually, I'm out of bed, dressed, and en route to the bank. This is when I check my phone to see why it was buzzing and discover a text message from this boy (we'll call him Guitar Hero) I invited to go to the birthday party on Friday night. Guitar Hero never texted me back that evening which made me wonder if he got the message at all or if he remembered to put my number into his phone.

He got the message and apologized for not texting back, that he was at Coachella and cell reception was lousy. We texted back and forth for the rest of the day with me feeling that same feeling I always feel around Very Good Guys: why am I never attracted to guys who would actually treat me well? Why do I run after guys who are incredibly beautiful, but utterly irresponsible?

It's the eternal mystery.
Onward to the dinner party.



Birthday dinner with everyone for my roomie at Cheesecake Factory where I had some of the best bellinis ever. Champagne with peaches, how I do adore you.

We managed to get back in time for me to go to the play performance and do my assistant stage manager duties. By this point, I'm sober once more and back to being my responsible self.

This was the moment where it got curiouser and curiouser.

The ex came up to me before the play started and put his hands on my face. Framing it with his hands. I think he might have been talking, but as per usual when an attractive guy is all up in my space, I fail to register words from them and just smile and giggle. That evening though, I didn't, but we did wind up staring into each others eyes more than speaking. Damn those sparkling blue eyes of his.

Uh oh. Trouble ahead girl.

Then he puts on his suit and pressed shirt and pink tie combo for another scene, which is bad, bad, bad for me. A man in a pressed dress shirt is my Achilles Heel, biggest weakness in life, stemming all the way from when I wore my Dad's dress shirts in art class in kindergarten, secretly smug that my shirts were so crisp and chic and not plain white tees like my classmates.

Uh, I try to tell him how much I like his outfit, but the words all fall out so in eloquently and jumbled that I sound like: I like your outfit that one tie um it is sharp and um a good look and uh, really you know, I like it.

He looks down at the tie and back at me, "Well, you know I could never dress like this every day."

"Oh why not? I wish every guy did." I reply to which the ex blinks back and I passionately declare, "I mean, I don't even look at guys who aren't dressed nicely."

HEATHER, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? SHUT YOUR MOUTH NOW! My brain yelps.

He is amused, "So you wouldn't even look at a guy wearing board shorts?"

"Nope." I reply, with my hands folded in front of me. This is not true, by the way, but once I make a point (especially in front of someone who seriously questions it) I stick with it, no matter how ludicrous it sounds.

Please Heather, my brain begs me, no more words.



Actions speak louder anyway.

I get the text message of death from my roommate telling me to check my email because the selections for the school literary magazine have been made and she didn't make the cut, even though her poetry was mesmerizing and well-written. I check it and it is empty. I was not selected either.

"ELITIST BULLSHIT!" I text back, even more wrath filled when she replies that 3/4 of the magazine will be filled with writers who either 1) helped put it together, or 2)are tight with those putting it together.

Which means we have another magazine coming out filled with adjective wrought stories that sound more like Coldplay lyrics than prose and involve the writer literally tripping over themselves in their attempt to sound brilliant. The same kind of people who would make love to their stories if they could.

Joy to the world. If I sound resentful, it is because I am if but for the school's sake. God forbid someone could just write something honest and heartfelt and get it published instead of ridden with sentences that are literally about nothing.

But I digress. You guys read my submission and I like the blogosphere people better :)

Continuing on to the play, intermission rolls around and I need to run to the fridge in the green room to get the tuna roll for the next scene. I run like my head's about to get cut off because there's only 5 minutes left. On the way there, some of the cast is dancing and I stop briefly, bust a move, and continue on.

The ex tries to dance with me, but I run past him into the crowded room (everyone was there) and throw open the fridge door.

He runs up right behind me.

The door slams into his crouch.

Everyone gasps.

I gasp because at that moment, something very hard smacked me too.

Something in his pants, tucked off to the side, namely of the penis variety which happened to be very stiff.

I should have emulated Zooey Deschanel from 500 Days of Summer and screamed, "PENIS!" at the top of my lungs.



Everyone laughs and I walk out of the room, with the tuna roll, in shock.

Sara is in the cast and she runs out of the room after me, "Oh my God, what was that? Is he on drugs right now?"

"He's not on drugs." I mutter and put the roll on the prop table.

"What just happened in there?" She asks me and I look up at her and quietly tell what happened.

And I'm telling you, I've never seen a person laugh harder in my life.

I go back to the green room where he's sitting on the little armchair and looks up at me, irritated, "Why did you just slam the fridge door into me?"

"I didn't mean to. I needed something out of the fridge." If I were in his shoes, I would have been equally as annoyed.

"What did you need out of the fridge that badly?"

"Uh, the tuna roll for the next scene?" I practically shouted back and he was quiet, "Oh okay that makes sense. Here," he scooted over on the armchair, "sit next to me."

Oh God. It is bad that I felt giddy about this and even worse that we sat there, giggling and bantering and lightly hitting each other for the duration of intermission.

Meanwhile, Sara is sitting there, still cracking up and eventually leaves the room, after I beg her to and a couple people have asked what is so funny (but will get NO answer back).



After the play, I go out with Randi to the club Sunset and have two drinks while telling her about the day.

Then I dance with the worst dancer of all time. Seriously. I know I'm not very good myself, but this guy was wooden and barely shuffled from side to side.

"Wow, you are the sexiest dancer ever!" He says to me and I grimace under the strobe lights to Randi who is also having a similarly bad dancing experience with his friend.

Ugh. I do not mention to him that I have envision him as someone else of the ex variety in order to enjoy myself.

And then I feel something else...

"My goodness," I tell Randi, "This is the second time today something hard has smacked against me!"

We laugh and leave after. Sketchy scene, that night.



Hooray for wacky weekends...here's to this coming week with the play's second set of perfomances.

Love to you all,
Heather

The Overexamined Life

Socrates famously said that the unexamined life is not worth living, but today I learned firsthand just how unnerving an intensely scrutinized life can be.

I think years from now, I will remember this Thursday (tax day, natch) forever because this was my breaking point. This was the moment where I not only felt like my world changed again, but I know it did physically and though it was tearful, and saddened me to say it to everyone else, it was a decision I knew was inevitable.

At noon today, I was brought into the office at work where for the next ten minutes, my boss proceeded to list off each and every fault she and her other coworkers had with me. They began with the first gripe, that I was an hour late to work yesterday, as she termed it "blatantly late."

The reality of this was that I was not late. I work Wednesday afternoons 3-5 because I'm at my other job prior to arriving to this one. At my school there are rules about the hours you can work without a break in between. This was recorded on their V drive file and they had the old schedule that they were using to determine this. So this was their fault, not mine.

The infuriating aspect of this was that they emailed me frantically that one hour before I was set to arrive, asking where I was, if I planned to come in, etc. The immediate work on the agenda was to copy newspaper articles. That's all, but the way it was sent to me was as though the building was burning and only I could put it out.

Then other details came out such as this personal call I made (admittedly, I was in the wrong with this one, but only two other people were in the office so I have a very good idea of who ratted me out).

Oh, and my personal favorite one? When my friend Julia came up from her school on St. Patrick's Day and I wanted to take the afternoon off to spend time with her since I see her very rarely (twice so far this year and prior to that, I hadn't seen her since May of 2009). Yes, I knew there was an important breakfast that next morning, but I did come in and help out for it. I didn't leave anyone hanging. But the moment I requested to have that day off, everyone behaved like I stuck a knife in their hearts.

The worst part was that this was written down somewhere and kept on a file. What, a tickler file for my behavior?! I do my job well and dress nicely and smile as much as I can, but to have somebody sit there and tell you every single tiny detail about you...it was nitpicking at its finest. I nearly anticipated some sort of comment on my skirt length.

I was almost in tears when she did that. How hideous is it to tell a senior, buried in homework and stressed out to her limit, that she doesn't do well in the one area that she thought she did?

I actually wanted to work there this summer too. In my mind, I began to decide to change my behavior to fit better for the office (important, because what she said next changed everything).

Then she wrapped it up, semi nicely, by mentioning this was normal for seniors and that if I wanted any job recommendations, these itty bitty actions would determine whether or not I received any.

My only thought was: I didn't plan on asking you for one. Not even once.

BOOM!!! Lightbulbs flashed everywhere in my brain.

I went back to my desk, did my assignment for them, all the while cooking up a thought in my head.



After work, I went and sat on the swingset by my dorm. Too much nervous energy resided in me and I swung to rid some of it. While I was on my swing, with that sun shining down on my face, my iPod blaring, and waving to my friends passing by, I thought about my best friend Melissa back home and how we used to sit and swing together on the swings at the neighborhood park, listening to Aerosmith and competing to see who could go the highest. I thought about my brothers too, how we all went to parks together and played together and chased one another down the slides and on the swing set together, pushing each other.

I thought about the infamous 6th grade parent-teacher conference at my school that I wasn't allowed to attend, but my Mom did. I sat outside of the room, waiting.

"What did you guys say about me?" I asked my Mom once she got out.

She sighed, "Heather, your grades are great and your uniform is always so nice."

"And?" I pressed.

"Your teacher told me you would be forever content to sit underneath a tree, reading a book." She smiled at me, a sad little smile I won't ever forget.

When I was in grade/middle/high school, everyone thought I read too much. Today, I read too little.



Back in reality, I got off the swing and thought about simplicity all the way to my next class. What do I really want? What would make me passionate?

I want to read again, voraciously with my eyeballs delighting in their wordy feast. I want to attend a community college (not a grad school, I'm too burned out for all that competition) and learn French and Russian. Maybe take another art history course, I loved my first one very much.

Mostly I want to travel and go overseas. Saint Petersberg, Paris, Amsterdam, Wales, Italy, Prague, the islands, and write what I see, how I feel there. Maybe even live over there.

My thought process was ruined in class when some heinous girl referred to me as "hey you, over there." I almost, in a Rory Gilmore-esque way, screamed that, "My name is Heather!! How can you not know this? You live with one of my best friends on campus and I am constantly in your room!!!"

Luckily time saved me from my inevitable battle cry. At 3pm, I went to my Departmental Honors professor's office to have some photos taken for Festival of Scholars. I got to his room and all it took was for him to just look at me once, and my entire shoddy day came tumbling out of my mouth for him to hear.

By the time I got done explaining it, I was so drained that I was slumped in my chair, my head in my arms, frustrated and tired.

"I can't do it Don. I can't sell my soul for some corporation. I don't want to live for money. I can't do that competition and be happy. I want to move to SF for some time, work some side jobs, take a French course, get a passport, and travel overseas."

Don is one of those rare souls who gets how things work in my head. He looked at me and simply said, "Heather, you need to do that. You need to travel and do it while you're young. You'll regret it if you don't when you're older."

Again, I wanted to cry, but this time from relief. Because he understood it. It was like that book I read, High School Confidential, where the author described his college career day as everyone else in suits with resumes, looking for networking and how he took his resume, made a paper airplane out of it, and got into his school's water fountain and goofed off.

"It's like me!" I told Don, "I'm going to be that person in the water fountain, goofing off and splashing people!"

He smiled at me and laughed, "Oh dear."

I went back to my room and napped. Told my roommates who were, as always, supportive as ever. Best girls in the world.



At the play tonight, something incredibly interesting happened as well. The ex and I had a full-fledged whispersation (conversation in whispers) where he told me that what set me apart from other people was that I was passionate in what I wrote and he could tell when he read my column in the paper (this made me so happy to know he still read it). He was very sweet and I told him about my bad day and he was sympathetic and kind. We've even agreed to spend some time together next week, just to hang out.

I missed talking with him. I missed him.

It is very important that I let it be known that despite my best efforts (and God, there have been many of them) I cannot deny that he is just someone I will always genuinely love and care about. Unconditionally. I can't ever wish or want bad things to happen to him because that just isn't my nature. I'm pretty much his personal cheerleader, all things considered.

I really need to tell him this. Because this entire campus knows and it's crazy to me that he doesn't.



And that was the story of how April 15th, 2010, changed everything for me. My dreams, I'm putting into action. I am so fortunate to be surrounded by such lovely friends and mentors who really care. And one day, I think my path will cross with that boy again, when we're older and somewhere wiser.

Love to you all,
Heather

The Sky is Falling

Getting back into the routine after visiting SF was difficult. For starters, when I got back on that Friday afternoon (after an absolutely nightmarish plane ride that I suffered from jet lag for two days after), I felt resentful to be in TO again. So small, so quiet, having to walk for fifteen minutes just to get to the Rite Aid alone.

It did not occur to me just how much SF woke me up inside. TO is beautiful and silent, like some art gallery that nobody updated for fifty years. SF is brimming with colors and bodies and crushing, exuberant LIFE. A life in the city that, despite the occasional upset, is the life I am used to but forgot about once I moved.

Here in TO, I'm a big fish in a tiny pond. A fish who has done her laps and is head of the school, but tired of making the same rounds. In SF, I was a random fish in an ocean of sea creatures. My name mattered to no one unless I made it matter.

All of my dormant drive revived again. Swim little fishie swim!




While I can't move for at least another month, I can still wander about the campus in an iPod induced daze, letting my playlist be my soundtrack.

Today, in this perfect little bubble, with its perfect trees, blue skies of fluffy clouds, and soft breeze, I envisioned this all ending. The scenery around me falling down. The set changing. When it turns out the trees and the bleachers and the buildings are just flimsy pieces of cardboard. You can push it down and stand in a field of empty.

Then you want to push the sky down because it is so perfect and then the sky is falling too. What surrounds you then?

I feel like even in the silence, even in the nothing, I will never be alone.



One of my new favorite songs is Massive Attack's "Live With Me", a very haunting, stirring piece of lyrics and violins. The lyrics mention at one point:

Either way/Win or Lose/When you're born into trouble/You live the blues.

These words and this whole song make me feel like I'm on a train. I'm speeding away from everyone and everything that I love, but hurtling into something unknown and exciting. A crescent of light hits my hair in this train and I feel physical warmth as well as mental warmth from my memories.

My regrets will cool that warmth because try as I might, I'm growing away from people. I know that I've made mistakes in the past. And there are some people I wish I never had to leave behind.



Then the train stops, the scenery changes, and this little fishie is more than ready is venture out into the big new world.

P.S. I'd like to thank Kim and Romantic Heroine for the awards, thank you so much, beautiful girls!

Love to you all,
Heather