Snow.

I could watch the snow fall for days.
It's hypnotic.
I wish I could be trapped in a snow globe with Mum playing.

Swoon.

A boy wrote this about me, for me:

My impression of internet Laura.

I should perhaps preface this
with saying that I have learned more about her since,
with saying I do not 'believe' my impression of her now
with saying I can’t 'know' her,
even If we had spent lifetimes together,
but you are a student of people too,
and know how from the merest glimpse
the depth of what we can divine about these amazing creatures.

So, this is what I projected about our subject,
internet Laura:
(I hope you can forgive me if this waxes poetic;
this is copy&pasted from the text file I deposited my thoughts in,
and this prose was simply what served my purposes at the time,
though I must add, likely obviously, that I claim no poetic aspirations :D)

she tries to be calm and composed under pressure
to take life in stride
to have perspective
to appreciate life
to be curious and learn,
look into the blackness, look into the sun

she find herself often lost in day dreams
in blissful hazes of wonder
and sometimes she gets lost, plumbing the depth of life
sometimes she finds herself depressed
because life has treated her poorly
because her love has gone unreciprocated too many times
because of no apparent cause at all
because…

she watches, she watches
she watches people - sees them,
she even sees them for what they can’t admit to themselves they are
in their splendor, in their complexity,
in the darkness they make for themselves
in the tiny worlds they live in
in the blinders they don to guard themselves from the vastness of the world around them
and in their inextricable one-ness with it.

she are easily amused,
can amuse herself for hours on end
with the things that other wouldn’t look twice at

she can be by herself, though she can so love others
her energy, exuberance and wit attract many people to her
who if they care for her, or invoke her better natures,
may find themselves cared for and loved in turn

she can be down to earth to and rational
trying to evaluate life objectively
and in the same breathe floating off in the galaxies of thoughts

that her mind is a beautiful place
though it can be frightening, the places she goes

that she has a wicked sense of humor
that comes out in loud laughs and coarse language
in the verbal absurdity and conceptual irony
and sometimes, simply in a vibrant twinkle in her eye

that she is sensitive but also resilient

that she may want someone to share her life with
but she is better suited than many at being alone




He hurteded his hand, so he was typing single handedly.
For me :)
*yay*


I'm listening to: Pedro The Lion- The Longer I Lay Here.
". . .someone to help me help myself. . . ."

Me and My Cat.

I just said the phrase
"....as I just demonstrated."
to my cat.

And, earlier, I got kinda excited when I made it from the faucet
to the designated water bowl spot without spilling a drop.

My exciting morning rages on. . .

Is it 1993??

I found this treasure troll ring in the snow bank.
What in the hell?
Flashback to 1993 when I used to be obssessed with freakin' trolls!!!

Growing up.

How do I move forward when I don't know what direction I am facing?
Is this where I am supposed to be?
I normally really don't care,
I kind of just go with the flow,
life will point me in the right direction.
But I've kind of put a timer on myself as of today.
I need to know what I want to go to school for by April 10th.
Path #1
Go to Metro State for a bachelors in social work. Then move onto getting specific training/schooling for working with children and young adults that have autism. Ideally my
role would be focused relating to the indivduals through art in it's many different forms.
Path#2
Go to school to become a veterinarian. Schools in the area that offer vet programs are: UofM, MN School of Business, and Argosy U. Ideally I would like to become a certified veterinarian and be able to open my own animal clinic. I am sure that would mean I would also have to take a minor in business management so I could get a bank to loan me enough money to open a private clinic. I loved managing a store, I just hated the corporate side of it.

I love helping.
I think that if I were to continue to help people, I would get burnt out on it.
Path #1 seems like it would be really awesome. . .but I worry about getting worn out.
Path #2 seems like it would be really awesome. . .but I worry about my credit history
and whether or not I would ever be able to take out a business loan to open a clinic.
I don't know.
I am going to seek out some vet clinics in the area and see if they need a volunteer
for a couple days. That way I would be able to see what goes on 'behind the scenes'.

So.
Yup.
Time to do some thinking.
April 10th I am scheduled for my placement testing at Metro State.
So if I want to get a BA in social work. . .I'll keep that ball rolling.
Otherwise I'm applying for the other 3 schools to see if I can get accepted
into the veterinary technology program for an AAS.
Meh.
I don't like thinking about long-term stuff.

I make no claims.

I've decided to break away from as many labels as I can.
Obviously there are some I can't escape, but those that I can't, I wear with pride.
I am a woman.
I am a daughter.
I am a friend.
But the other ones. . .who cares?
Who cares who I pray to at night?
Or if I pray at all?
My faith is my business.
My faith does not define me.
Who cares which party I vote for?
Or if I vote at all?
I will not be defined by my president.
(for the record, I do vote. . I'm just sayin')
Who cares what my sexual orientation is?
My sex is my business.
And who I fuck doesn't define me.
Who cares what my job title is?
My job definatly doesn't define me.
It is a means to a meager living.
Where I live?
Who I talk to?
Whether my skin is white or black or darker or lighter?
Who cares about my age?
Who cares what I do to this body?
My tattoos, piercings or scars do not define me.
You may look at me and you may judge me based by my appearance.
But I will tell you this much, I'm sure you'll probably be wrong about me.
You don't know me.
And telling you that I am a christian,
Or an athiest,
or a buddhist,
or a republican,
or a socialist,
or a doctor
or a teacher
or a fucking dyke,
does that help you understand me better?
NONE OF THAT WILL DEFINE ME!!!!!
I will not make it easier for you.
I will shrug off your labels and indentities.
I won't sit nicely in your boxes, pigeon-wholed by you catagories.
You're going to have to get to know the real me.
Not by some means of an easy reference sheet defined by labels and components.
I won't let you skip through the process of stripping me down, layer by layer,
to see who I am at my core.
We are losing a beautiful experience
by simply offering up the Cliff's Notes version of ourselves.
But I want people to take the long road.
I want people to read the entire book of me.
I'm not a catagory.

Modern Girl. Modern World.

I'm a 27 year old Minneapolis woman who is dating in 2009. Here is my candid experience. It is sure to be an ongoing, prolonged story. Hopefully not prolonged into my 40's, however.
I will, somewhat shamefully, admit that all of these men have been found via online dating. My best friend, Anne, recommended it based off of some success stories from other friends. So, I thought, why not. Here are my experiences. Honestly.


Dude #1:
-------------------
Very nice gentleman. First date, I picked him up at the corner of the main street by his house because I cannot, honestly, for the life of me, figure out how to get to his place. I have MapQuest on my phone and I still got lost. It's dumb. I mean, I am. Anyway. I pick him up. Immediate, snap judgement, he's not bad looking. We go to Chatterbox for dinner. Conversation is good, we're having a good time, he's making me laugh, I'm making him laugh. It's good. I can't remember what he ordered, but I ordered some kind of chicken dijon foccacia sandwich. As I'm placing the necessary condemints on my plate to maximize my eating experience, he asks me "Can you handle gross stuff?". I'm thinking, I have worked at group homes for the last near-2 years, so I say "Yeah. What?". I pick up half of my dijon chicken sandwich as he says "I get massive boils." I take a big bite out of my sandwich as he launches full on into a detail description of his boils and the conditions and history of these things that grow on his body. It's not that he gets them all the time, just in humid/tropical climates. So, like Florida or Hawaii. By the end of his story, and the end of my half of sandwich, I'm not hungry and I'm not interested.
I tried it out. I tried to see if there were interests we could share. A common ground that we could bond over. I tried to be intimate with him. Well, that wasn't so hard, he was a good lover. But all in all. . . . I just thought. . no. I can't. I can't get over the whole boil thing. I want to go visit some tropical places! I don't want to have to lance some boils and drain some pus while I'm in paradise. Sorry babe.


Dude #2:
------------------------

This guy is funny. I felt funny talking to him. Our witty banter was easy to engage in. And he was into really cool stuff! I didn't feel half as cool as I thought he was. I mean, some smoker dude that goes to film school, works at a co-op, progressive political activist, listens to good music, and makes his own cool music? Total score! Witty mother fucker too. The first time we had sex, I wanted to girl-out and cuddle with him and he pulled away like he was going to get up and, what I figured was that he was going to go out for a cigarette (so cliche for me to think of that one, but he smokes a bit, so whatever, fuck you) but in actualality, when I made a disagreeing whimper to his departure, he said "I have to go poopie." I don't know why, I mean, really, but I thought it was pretty adorable. I know, right? Not right. Defecation. But the fact that he said "poopie". It kind of hit me in the soft spot. Well, he called me after our 6th date and called the whole thing off.


Dude #3
---------------------
This one kind of got me. I was pretty sad after the myspace break up letter that I got from this guy. No, this happened this year. Not in '96, when I was 12. I, the 27 year old girl, received a Myspace break-up letter from a 26 (?I think 26?) year old man.. He's a pretty cool guy. I mean, take Dude#2 and turn him into a non-smoker, awesome writer, musician. And make him a punk-rock real estate agent on top of that. With a big beautiful house that he lives in. Fuck yeah. That was this guy. I was totally into him. Very funny, very witty. Good kisser, never got to the sex part, because, as I mentioned, the Myspace letter, that happened around date 5 time. Yup. I guess an online break-up is kind of like "as it were in the begining, so shall it be in the ending" or whatever. . not so ashes to ashes and dust to dust though.


Dude #4
-----------------------
Wow, this date was something else. First date. I took this guy to Little T's for dinner, then we decide to go to the Triple Rock for some beers. Here is a snipet of our conversation:
Him: So, tell me something about you that hardly anyone knows.
Me: I buried a cat alive once.
Him: ****Look of horror on face****
Me: ***launch into story of my 14 yr old self that had to compassion kill a suffering, death-flopping cat that got ran over but I was too scared to carry out any other method of death***
Me: So, tell me something about you that hardly anyone knows.
Him: I shit my pants 2 weeks ago right before a job interview I had.
Me: **eruption of laughter quickly muffled with attempts to be sincere while inquiring more**
Things ended up not working out.
Not because I'm a cat killer. And not because he's a pants shitter.
Probably because when I thought someone tells you "I Love You" on the first date, they usually like you for more than a friend. Silly me.


Dude #5
---------------------
This only lasted one date. He seemed like a fun guy when I was emailing him. Witty, clever, superlative meaning funny. His pictures looked carefree and silly. A man that thinks dressing up for concerts is fun?? Awesome! I met my soul mate! Not really, but you know, close. Anyway, so I decided to go out for some mexican food with him. We ended up talking about him the whole time. Damn english professors. Always yacking about themselves. I'm a leo, I need some spotlight, dammit. ;) He had an interesting necklace. It was made of bones. Human bones. Yes, for real.


And that is where I am at right now.
I am now taking applications for dudes.

Unconditional.

I fuck up
and you still love me.
I take advantage of your kindness
but you still give more to me.
How could you still respect me
and all my screw ups and lack of responsibilities?
How could to still love me
when I burden you so much?
I'm a 27 year old womanchild.
Your time of raising me should be over.
Do you get sick of me?
Do you wish that I could get my shit together?
Do you ever wish I could be more like your married, child-bearing nieces?
When I call, is the first thought you have "how much money does she want this time." ?
I swear some day I will do right by you.
I swear some day I will take care of you.
Bear with me mom and dad.
Bear with me.
I'm almost there.




Listening to: Okkervil River- "He Passes 33"

Tired.

I'm tired.
After the last 2 weeks,
I feel like I have nothing left to give.
I'm spent.
I have been everything I could be to all that surround me.
I have made it through the obstacles of February.
And now. . .I'm tired.
Phycially.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
I have nothing left to offer you.
For now.
I'm ready to go home and cry.
Break down and become hysterical.
Then I can rebuild and ready myself for the storm that approaches.
I can do nothing to stop the things around me.
All I can do is take care of this body, mind, and soul
so that I can be more available to help those that are in need.


But, fuck, it's hard.
I feel anxious.
I just want to cry.
I want to be the one that gets to 'lose it'.
I keep praying that no one wakes up.
I thank every silent minute that slinks by.
Sleep, sleep, sleep. . .

Catch Up.

But he's 43.
I'm 27.
Which doesn't matter now.
But it would
when he dies before me.
And leaves me all alone
to catch up to him.
In our side by side plot.

Could I still love you the same,
knowing that you'll leave me someday?
Knowing I'll have to live out my last years
alone in a house full of memories and old ghosts.
Our children old and grown
With healthy families of their own.
Mortages and bills
Jobs and obligations.
No time for grandma
who's only responsibility is to remember to take her pills.
Pills to keep healthy
To stay alive.
Pills to keep smiling
to want to survive.

Each day I'll think of you.
And wonder if we'll really meet again.
In some after life.
Reincarnation. . .
will you still pick me as your wife?
Will you find me?
Maybe this time we'll have met as babes
and be given back the 16 years we missed.
Maybe we'll be souls
like boundriless entities of energy
that is and are all that is and was around us.
Every living breathing thing
every dead and dying form.
Every smile that fades from someone's face.
Everywhere and every place.
All the time and at every moment.
To be everything and nothing.
Not to know if you are me or I am you.
To be one.

But you're 43.
And I'm 27.
This is a love
that could never happen.






listening to: Andrew Bird-Noble Beast