okay. i’ve actually counted back to see how many of my last posts have been bordering on the heavy…and there have been quite a few.
i feel like i want to apologize, to this space and to all of you. what this space has come to mean to be has changed a LOT over the 2 years i’ve had a blog – (whoa. 2 years.) – and while i don’t want to deny or avoid that i go through rough times, i don’t want to make it the focus of my thoughts. i’m creating a lot of my own reality, in more ways than one, and i’d like to give as much beauty back to the world as i can (as well as see beauty in all of the moments that are given to me, not just the ones that feel comfortable).

at the same time, i’m in a bit of a space. the light is fast dwindling, as is the heat, and i think my body is going into a sort of subconscious panic. i’m sleeping a lot, about 9-10 hours a night, and i know that i probably need this, because of the pain that i was in and what i was trying to accomplish, but it’s just freaking me out more and more. (forgive the run-on sentences, you grammar techies out there…) i’m scrambling to get back up to date in school, and just today i realized, with a sense of horrible reality, that if i want to apply for my masters’, which i do, as well as with a t.a-ship (and the money that implies, which i do) that my grades have to be up to scratch and i need to get reference letters from profs. profs who don’t really know who i am because i haven’t handed a lot in. again.

DEEP BREATH, BEE.

this is such small biscuits, in the grand scheme of things, i know. but i feel constantly like i’m losing sight of my goals, that i’m becoming submerged in the nitty gritties of life, and that i just need to take myself firmly in hand and get on with it.

one of the major things that has been bothering me lately is the sense of my own age.

i’m a fairly old undergraduate…i have lived about 8 years more than the average of my classmates. this has never bothered me before – in fact, i love it when my friends discover that i’m pushing thirty and tell me they thought i had just turned legal.
i act young, i get that.

but the other day in class, i looked around and saw people who not only WERE 22, but LOOKED 22. their faces were unlined. when they read poetry out loud they cutely affected a “poetry voice”. they wore newly-bought clothes that had been stressed to look old – they were newly-minted adults.

and i’ll admit, i was having a strange day, but i went into the girls’ bathroom and just looked at myself in my new t-shirt and jeans, with my dyed black hair mussed into a bedhead style, and i thought, what the fuck are you doing? who the fuck are you trying to be?

i saw the squinty, from-being-near-sighted lines scored into my forehead, the little pink scars right underneath both eyes from when i HAD to pop those pimples, the crow’s feet that are just starting on my temples. i felt ugly. for some reason, with my short hair, i also felt really masculine. i felt….invisible. i felt really sad.

there is a lot i could say about this. i could say that i’m aware that once i start to feel stress, it is my physical appearance that i choose to pick on, and how sad it makes me that that‘s the chink in my armour – that i’ve internalized the (pervasive, western-media-propagated) notion that aging is ‘bad’ and ‘unattractive’ and older people are ‘barren’ of creativity and seductiveness.

i know this…and yet, i still storm my own defenses and make myself weak in things that don’t really matter.
everyone gets older – if they’re lucky enough. a person’s beauty goes far, far beyond the surface.

i can say that although there are times that i tax my own ever-loving patience (i can be as neurotic as a poodle, for one) i do love myself. i recognize that i have been through (as well as put myself through) a helluva a lot, and in my more ego-oey moments, i acknowledge that i’m proud of myself for making it to the other side, and for being this being that i am.

each of the lines on my face is a memory of a moment i’ve lived, or the person i was, and i don’t ever want to be ashamed of any part of my journey. fuck that.

i am both a tomboy – in that i love running and playing outside and getting dirty – and a girlie-girl (loving the luxurious getting-ready-for-school prep and dressing up). a bookworm and a party girl. a nerd and a complete goofball. as kate says in french kiss, i use the corresponding face for the corresponding emotion. i can sometimes be so shy that i appear cold. (i’m really not, though, i swear!) i’m just horrible with money. i love who i love a DAMN LOT.

this is me, and i’m human.

i promise things will be lighter in the future.

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