“Because he has…

“Because he has set his love upon Me, so will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he has known My Name. He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him. With long life shall I satisfy him, and show him My salvation.”
-Psalm 91:14-16

This is one of my favorite Psalms.

C’est la Vie for Chibi Me: A College Tale

Greetings, dears! I must apologize in advance, for today’s post will come in the form of nothing more than a rather irritable rant. That being said, I’ve decided to add a few horribly drawn comics to the mix to lighten the mood.

As I have…actually not specifically explained, I am currently attending my second year of college. This particular chapter in my life, however–college, that is–has always been on the abstract side of a young adult’s social norm. I shall attempt to elaborate in as brief a manner as possible, so as not to deviate from my wrathful spewings (sorry again, beloved readers): while still in high school, I gorged myself on as many advanced classes as possible. Therefore and thusly, in accordance to the American education system, I was granted enough college credit to enter as a second year if I so wished. However, as I was rather indecisive about what I wanted to freaking do with my life, I opted for a semester in community college to finish off the remaining credits necessary for an associates degree. After that, still fidgeting with apprehension at the idea of decision-making, I took a semester off to work. Following this, I procrastinated yet further by way of traveling to the other side of the world and spending my summer in Japan. Finally, without any more ado, I resigned to my fate and trudged back to college life. As a second year. Ish. I honestly still haven’t a clue as to what I’m officially being called.

Anyway. Such deviation from the normal social behavior of my peers–that being, hopping from high school to college and immersing oneself in a parent-free zone to party, learn a sheltered type of independence, and study–has made my return to college life a bit on the rocky side. Even when I was in college last, it was a two-year institution; in lieu of my current state university posting, nothing is remotely similar. People live there, for goodness sake. Lots of people. Lots of teenagers.

I should probably mention that I dislike teenagers. Er…young adults. The reason for this is probably that for the majority of my life, I constantly found myself surrounded by peers and friends who were quite a bit older than I. Still, as a transfer-commuter-girl-who-would-rather-be-on-the-other-side-of-the-world, drifting into any kind of college social circle is a task. It’s a task, and I’m lazy.

My current strategy is this: get to school, get to class, get out, and get home.

Thus far, it has served me well. Until Thursday. On Thursdays, my schedule has an unavoidable three-hour gap between my second and last class. Under such circumstances, I am left with no choice but to brave the solitude of one person in a crowd of people she could honestly never click with. Which is fine; I generally just people watch and pick up ideas for characters.

But this Thursday was different. This Thursday, I was running on four hours of sleep, and was PMS’ing like Mother Nature during global warming.

You may find that this is too much information. You may be right. I assure you, however, that it’s incredibly relevant to my tale.

Basically, someone could breath the wrong way, and it would irritate me. I was strung tight, a quivering, raw nerve of irritability-turned-wrathful, and I was out for blood.

I wanted to find something to channel my anger at.

I admit this all with shame, on a side note; I’m generally someone who strives to be considerate and empathetic. I swear, I’m not usually a raging she-demon; I am, however, a woman.

That being said, the first thing I zeroed in on was the fact that none of these spoiled-silly college freshmen were capable of speaking more than five words without inserting the word “like”. I kid you not, I exaggerate not; these tittering mortals abused the word “like” at least fifty times a minute. Of course, this was nothing new; however, in my state, “like” became my plague. It was all I could hear; Stacy could have been shrieking to Emily about how her boyfriend hid seaweed, like, right under her pillow…and all I would have heard would be that blaring, vile misuse of the common mono-syllable word. LIKE.

So imagine that. But en masse. This includes the guys, which only made it more irritating.

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Generally, prolonged exposure to such an environment leaves me in such a condition that I’m unable to do more than wander aimlessly around my house until I find a good piece of well-written literature to revive my senses.

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But on that day, I was about ready to go to war over such a thing.

In my defense, after throwing a mental piss-fit about such a situation, I did move. That was when the highlight of this post made his rather smelly appearance.

Due to an irrevocably pale complexion, I settled in the shade of the cafeteria’s veranda; it was quite bright, and whatnot. Relief from the sun’s persistent rays even improved my mood slightly, so I sank back into the metal chair and took a deep breath…of second-hand smoke,

Insta-irritation for this cigarette abstainer. I have my reasons for finding nicotine and abhorrent thing; most of them are personal. The others circle around its negative effects on hygiene.

Obviously, I wanted to make eye-contact with my offender, and psychically inform him of how impolite it was to blow smoke in someone’s face…and of how unwise it was to be impolite to me at present. 

I turned to behold this sight:

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I blinked. Performed a masterful double-take. The result was the same: this male specimen was an unpleasant but striking semblance of the curs back at my run-down old high school. Just to be certain, I ran through the mental outline.

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Upon reaching the end of my brief once-over, the verdict was grim: this was, indeed, a douchebag. From the blowing-smoke-in-face habit to the striped polyester v-neck, this human was offensive to the eyes, the nose…and the ears, I amended, as he opened his mouth and started whining. About. Everything.

My face when.

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Look, kid. I’m not actually psychic; I admittedly can’t read your mind. Furthermore, I don’t know you, nor am I aware of your life situation. It is, however, fairly obvious to me that you have enough money to A) Buy clothes that, while woefully unbefitting for you, are still very nice clothes, B) Attend a college of nationally recognized quality and comfort, and C) Buy cigarettes, which, while vile, are rather pricey. Therefore, it is only fair to assume that you are either very well off, for someone your age, or have very benevolent parents who are willing to devote thousands of dollars for your behalf.

At this point, my attempted mental projection to the youngster was interrupted as he, with great angst and pouting, threw down his cigarette, stomped on it, and launched into a teen-tantrum. I define it thus because he substituted the squalling and kicking of a toddler-tantrum for the F-bomb and sexual innuendo.

That, added to the smoke-in-face, added to my recent run-in with the “LIKE Ladies”, finally tipped the scale on my blade-walking act between composure and hormone-fueled rage-monster-Mina. I had to exit the scene quickly, before I went Super Saiyan and beat the absolute crap out of this guy. As it was, I stared him down one last time in the hopes to get a final message across to his subconscious:

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Happily for the mortal, I was able to make good my exit. He lives to this day, probably still stoned out of his mind, and probably still blowing foul smoke into the faces of hapless females. I hope, for the sake of his continued existence, that they are equally as benevolent as I was. 😉

…

Perhaps even as modest. ANYWAY. That’s my incredibly long post for the day. I apologize for my wrathful musings, and do promise that my mood is not often this bad. Stay lovely, all!

If…

If I could be anything
I would be an idea
A memory
A wish
A dream…

Maybe even a feeling.

There are no boundaries,
No limitations to my being
Even reality is irrelevant
I would still exist.
I would still affect.

I would be so transient
Not a vapor of mist
Would stand as my rival.
I could go anywhere
No.
I would be anywhere.
Everywhere.
Just like that.

If I were an idea
What would I be?
If I were a memory
Who would you see?
And if I were a dream
Would I give you hope
A reason

  to keep trying?

I Soar with Wings not Mine Alone

A chance meeting, a happy greeting
May the building memories commence
Some are lengthy, others fleeting
All are priceless in every sense.

Sunlight dances through my feathers
I smile soaring higher than before
I think on all our times together
And the promises of so many more

You’re the one who set me free
Led me from a world of drabness
Offered me a silver, shining key
And splashed color on my barren canvas

Before we met, I was alone
Even shuffling through the crowds
Such solitude settles in the bones
Not one chosen nor allowed.

So to me, you’re an angel
To whom all gratitude is due

When my thoughts are all in tangles
You’ve so often been my muse

You’ve never been a burden
And you never ever could be
I see so much, without, within
Your troubles only set me free

I love to help, I want to
So don’t ever shut me out
I just want to be here for you
Your dearest friend devout.

The wind rushes by in gusts
As I fly faster and higher
I’ll carry you, if I must
I never could grow tired.

 

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Again, I bemoan how awful I am with poetry. However, this is dedicated to one of the most important people in my life: my best friend, Mako. To you dears who are lovely enough to actually follow my humble musings, you’ll be hearing a lot about her. This is…an introduction? I guess. Yeah.

Words in a Wedding Dress

Sometimes I attempt poetry. Said attempts are laughable, but I’ll share the smiles. 😉

 

If I could say anything
In this rusty language
I was born listening to
But forgot how to speak,

I’d dress my writing desk
In a bridal gown of paper
A simple shade of white
Riddled with inky stitches.

You see,
I have so many
 
  Words

That are only for you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Graveyard Beauty: Erin Cushing

In which a beautiful and talented friend somehow makes me look remotely photogenic. 😉 I thank her for it, and for her moving words. I don’t know what I’d do without this girl. ❤ I encourage you all to go and look at her photography; she's an independent artist with a ton of talent.

| Savannah Rei Photography |

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Before you read onward I would like to take the time to notify you that Erin is not like other girls, and unlike the girls who say that, this time it is true. As well as that notification I would like to explain that Erin and I have tremendous respect for graveyards and the following graveyard was not disrespected nor was it disturbed.

Erin is not beautiful, she is not gorgeous, nor pretty. Erin is vibrant, stunning, elegant, graceful, adjectives that out weigh pity comments described in the latter. I have known Erin for quite some time now, however, it is extremely difficult to get my finger wrapped around the remarkable lady that stood before my lens. I adore Erin and how different she is from all of my other friends and passerby’s that I have met.  She just recently arrived back to the states from a summer course derived…

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