I've decided to switch from livejournal to blogspot for reasons that even I'm not sure of...but then again, a girl's allowed to change her mind every once in a while, right? Anyhow, the new site is www.twostarstoplight.blogspot.com in case you just can't live without keeping up with my nonsensical ramblings...enjoy!

I'm taking my senior picture today for the yearbook. I didn't even know we had a yearbook. Guess I shouldn't have worn my hair in pigtails today. How is it possible to feel so ungrown up and grown up at the same time?

Back to the screenplay...10 pages and 7 hours to go...

So in the last few days something very odd's been occurring. People from very different and very random parts of my life have been telling me the same thing (in some form)...like there's this wacky new mantra going around: you cannot be hurt unless you consent to it.

WHAT?! Who's the crazy person that's teaching this mantra?? Who in the world thought up that load of junk? Here's the thing, we hurt each other constantly...with consent, without consent. We're humans...bulls in china shops...we all suck when it comes to handling others' emotions (and our own). Most of us don't come with hard enough shells to deflect pain...we don't come with super power shields built into our gold armbands.

It does, however, take consent for someone to become victimized. I'm not a victim unless I say I am. But I am a hurter and a hurtee. It's the way life goes.

So whoever the crazy person is starting this rumor, do us all a favor and find another slogan for your t-shirt.

You dance tangos on icebergs,
fidgeting with the sleeve of your shirt
while I sketch you from the side,
pencil sliding between my fingers,
lines of graphite stretching across the paper.

You spin too quickly though,
caught in heated rhythms
of abrazos and enganches.
The lines blur faster
and faster until I cannot
capture you on the page.

And so it is, nuestra historia,
you dance with strangers
while I sketch for no one, both knowing
I need you so much closer.

So it might be a self-proclaimed title, but it suits me nonetheless...I'm officially the biggest nerd ever. I just spent my evening cataloging my books online (among other things...I may be a nerd, but I'm not pitiful)

http://www.librarything.com/catalog.php?view=twostarstoplight

I cataloged my books, listened to the rain and sad music, and actually did some non-scholastic writing. All in all, I'd say it was a fantastic night. Do you think it's possible to be attracted to someone because of their book collection? Not that I am (I swear), but it seems like something that might happen to me. I know, I know...nerd-dom is mine, no need to remind me.

I'm putting my right kidney up for sale. Anyone interested?

I can't feel my toes, but hearing the music is worth the hypothermia...for the time being. Heaters are for wimps! And for the life of me, I cannot figure out what the heck Mackie's building next door...the man hammers at all hours of the day. Add that to the random moaning from upstairs guy, and you've got yourself a winning combination. I love this apartment building.

I bought a red pair of shoes on Saturday. From Shoenami. It was a good weekend.

I leave you with one last quote..."Japanese?! I don't know who that is at all..."

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace things, but burn like fabulous roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes 'AWWW!' " -Jack Kerouac

After seeing the most fantastic homespun fireworks display tonight, I couldn't resist throwing in the quote from ol' Jackie. And of course I couldn't pass up punching out my first post of 2006. It was an emotional sort of New Year's celebration around here. Lots of people and food and music...and as mushy gushy as it sounds, we've all become family. Something about heartache and tragedy does that to you...you reach out and latch onto each other like life preservers. I've never been hugged and kissed and loved on so much in my life..and something tells me this is how it's supposed to be -- this sense of community and family even when there's no blood relation. And it feels good.

So anyway...New Year's resolution time. I don't like calling them "resolutions" so much as promises to myself (I know, I know...only semantics, but it's MY journal...give me a break). So here we go...among other things (which won't be posted for all of cyberspace to see), this year I want to "burn like a fabulous roman candle" just like Kerouac says. I want to live life in such a way that nothing gets wasted...no moments lost. If there's one thing I've learned from 2005, it's that moments aren't for saving or storing up or hoarding...they're for spending. So here's to spending every moment...cheers y'all!

I've been meaning to sit down and do some typing on here for a few days now...it keeps my brain from becoming complete goo. I never know what to do with myself over holidays, this one especially. No homework, no agenda, no grades to worry about...the lack of stress sort of stresses me. Only sort of.

Speaking of brains turning to goo, apparently the acid's starting to eat away holes in my cerebellum...I kid, I kid. But seriously, the more I talk with my parents, the more I realize that I've done quite a bit of blocking out these past four months. My mom told me last night that when I left Texas back in September, I swore to my dad that I'd never write again, that I was done with it all. Grant it, I was angry as hell then and no one was thinking clearly (least of all me), but seriously? Never write again?? I said that??

It's not the only thing they've brought up these past few days that I literally cannot remember. Some things I can see so distinctly in my mind as if I were watching a movie, and other things just sort of slide between my fingers like when you can't quite remember the dream you just woke up from. It's weird how memory works...how it doubles back over itself to protect us until we're ready...if we ever are.

Some things still just seem so surreal. We drove past the Monteleone last night, past the Walgreens, past the A&P, and everything looked all shiny and new. For a minute I had to wonder if I imagined it all up. I still get that feeling of when am I going to stop pretending and go back to my real life...I went down to St. Bernard the other night for a play...drove past the turn to get to my house...half expected to turn.

Things are good though. They still go on, and it's all I can do to keep up. My cousin had a baby early this morning, my sister's due in February, I graduate in April...and then who knows. Anyone up for a road trip??

Merry Christmas! I love Christmas...although I've been in such a time warp these past few months, Christmas feels a little weird this year. No matter, it's still my favorite holiday. I've been up to my elbows in scotch tape and wrapping paper the last two days, but I'm nearly done wrapping everything (bonus points for me!). I won't pretend like it's all sunshine and roses though...it's weird being back here. And I have a feeling it won't be un-weird for a while. I can feel the temporality of this semester though, and that's a new experience for me. A good experience. I can see the bigger picture, and that's safer for me than getting bogged down in the next few months.

If you'll excuse me, I have a few pies to make...despite it all, some things at Christmas never change.

it's hard to believe i've been here for four months and now it's time to go back home...i'm systematically going through this checklist in my head, turning in papers, tying up loose ends, and working through the list of goodbyes. my friends threw me a party the other night, and i felt very much loved. i've definitely put down deeper roots here than i expected...and i know i'll be back soon.

i don't think tonight could have been any more perfect. honestly. it wasn't too cold, we had dinner on arthur ave, the moon was full, the stars were out, and a certain door to a certain bell tower was unlocked. life is good.

So it's official. I SUCK AT GOODBYES...I had to start saying my goodbyes today, and I'm not sure I'm liking this at all. Ok, I'm sure I DON'T. I'm not done with New York, but I don't quite know what to do...because I've still got so many loose ends left at home. And I'm definitely a girl who needs closure, especially now. I don't know if I'm making the right choice moving back to New Orleans. But then again, if I go back now I've got a better chance of coming back here...at least that's how it works out in my head. I just don't want to get stuck. I'm so afraid of standing still sometimes.

I'm no good at letting go.

I heard the reverberating footsteps
sinking up to the beating of my heart,
and I was positive that unless I got myself together,
I would watch me fall apart.

And I can't let that happen again
'cause then you'll see my heart
in the saddest state it's ever been.

This is no place to try and live my life.

Stop right there. That's exactly where I lost it.
See that line. Well I never should have crossed it.
Stop right there. Well I never should have said
that it's the very moment that
I wish that I could take back.

I'm sorry for the person I became.
I'm sorry that it took so long for me to change.
I'm ready to try and never become that way again
'cause who I am hates who I've been.
Who I am hates who I've been.

It's December today. And I'm wearing old socks. And SPMI just called. And it's supposed to snow this weekend. You can't tell right now, but my smile's pretty big.

This is what I would have posted had livejournal been working Friday night...

I saved a scrap of paper and a carved pen and a rock today. I donned a white hazmat suit and my father and I climbed around the wreckage I used to call a home. It was hard to tell which was harder...watching for snakes with tears in my eyes or trying desperately not to step wrong and fall through the rotting wood...or maybe it was keeping down my lunch. I have been to a lot of sad places. I have seen destruction and poverty and pain...but it was never mine. Pieces of my childhood, my family history covered in mud and gunk and nastiness. The chemicals in the water ate holes in some of it. Mold got to the rest. I finally saw it for myself.

Pictures do not capture the endless destruction. Pictures compartmentalize, make it easier to digest...in real life, though, it is another thing. I was proud of myself. When my dad sent me pictures a few months ago, I dry heaved into a garbage can at my desk while I looked through them. Today I said goodbye. No gagging, just tears.

There are no birds in St. Bernard Parish anymore. There was absolute silence this afternoon...just gray, smelly silence. When we got halfway over the Industrial Canal, though, a huge brown pelican flew across, and I smiled.

People think I'm crazy for moving back to New Orleans. Why would I willingly put myself at risk again? At risk of losing it all? I asked myself that too...and I realized that I lose sight of a lot of things in the material kingdom that I build. I pile up the stuff, label it all mine, and sit back to watch it collect dust and rot away. None of it is ours. South Louisiana is not ours. The land, the houses, the things. None of it is. We just get the priviledge of borrowing it for a little while. I can't live life afraid to put down roots, but I also can't let the ripping up of those roots destroy me.

So here are the keys. Here is the stuff. Consider it libations I've not-so-willingly poured out. I don't need any of it. I lived. I made it out. I get to try again. That's enough for me to be thankful.

So last night I slept under a blanket that smells like my mother and I could hear my father snoring in the next room. I drove through parts of town that I haven't seen since August 26th. I wandered around Walmart today. And now I know. There's no place that's home. It's not New York, it's not New Orleans, it's certainly not Covington. It's not supposed to be like this. I can still remember the sound my bare feet made on the hardwood floor at Nanny's and Uncle Jerry's and how someone would always yell at me to put on some socks. Last Thanksgiving is not far from my mind. But I put a smile on my face and nod when my parents ask how I like the new house and isn't the area great and doesn't all feel so homey. I'm a liar. I don't think this type of lie counts though. It shouldn't.

I have been remiss about updating. My apologies. But alas, my meandering thoughts have returned (Not that the thoughts really left, just my posting of those thoughts. Actually, I take that back...I was definitely without thoughts this morning in my religion class. Oops.)

Thanksgiving is getting closer and closer. I was so excited about this trip home at the beginning of the semester - it couldn't come fast enough. I've changed my vote, though. Is that allowed? I can't pinpoint when it happened...it came on very gradually. It definitely reared its ugly head Monday, though. I cried, and it's been a while since I've cried. I hung up on my mother, turned on a mournful Damien Rice song, put my head on my desk and sobbed. I'm tired of fighting everything and everyone. It's wearing on my body. I feel like a battering ram, and I don't know how much more I can take. I'm not strong enough...I need someone to substitute for me for a while so I can catch my breath.

At first, I was fighting the unnamed -- emotions, circumstances, fears, red tape -- inanimate objects and forces that could take my rebellion. Now, though, now I'm fighting faces, people, family. I didn't think I'd get attacked from behind, but I didn't think a lot of things would be happening that are happening now.

It's so easy to forget things here, to pretend like everything's normal. It never lasts, though. I was working in the library tonight, and the fire alarm went off - strobe lights, high-pitched wails. That's all it took for the normalcy to vanish. All of a sudden, I was back in that hotel, lying on the bed trying to conserve my energy and stay cool, seeing the strobe light in the window of the room one floor up, knowing what was happening, jumping off the bed, throwing everything I could get my hands on into my backpack, going to the door, yelling for my mom to hurry, running back to get the water bottles, flying down the hallway, down the stairs, all seven flights, the people, the dogs, the noise, the smell of urine in the stairwell. There's no water pressure, there's no water pressure, how will the hoses work, are there even any firemen left in the city, did I grab the pillow and the food, how much more can I take? All of it went through my mind in one flash while I ran, my heart beating so fast I was sure I'd have a heart attack. I'm not going to go like this, you can't have me, I've fought too hard, damn it you can't have me. I was angry at the fire alarm. Angry at the fire, at the flood, at the city, at God. I didn't want to die. I don't like fire alarms very much now.

I'm going to the city tomorrow, going to wander around and get absorbed. I need noise and bustle and crowds. I find peace in melting in. I need more peace than I thought.

So tonight instead of feeling tired, I'm getting curiouser and curiouser (ok, I know it's supposed to be 'more curious,' but where's the fun in that phrase??) I've got more questions than answers (suprise, suprise). I wonder if we're all just wandering around in a fog, just waiting for someone to ask how we are or how our day was so we can spill out exactly what we've been longing to say for ages. Do we walk around holding these stories, wishing desperately that someone would raise an eyebrow or tilt their head to one side...any hint of permission for us to pour out anything and everything? Sometimes I think that must be the case. But then we hit a wall. If we're all longing to speak, who's going to do the listening? I mean, if you're busting at the seams to tell me this story, how can you listen to my story at all? And the reverse applies as well. I'm so guilty of this. We all are. We only ask how someone is so they'll return the favor and open the floor to us. Why are humans so - I don't know - human?! I can't think of how else to put it.

And this is something I've been mulling over for a few days now. It sort of flows from the above pondering although I started chewing on this idea first: How do you live life completely naked? So ever since this whole hurricane/displacement thing, I have had to learn to be raw and open and utterly vulnerable. I spent the first month crying in public (I NEVER CRY IN PUBLIC) and admitting my weaknesses, my shortcomings to anyone who would stand still long enough. Now, though, now I'm in a weird place. Yes, things are still um...different? But I'm not as raw as before. I've started healing. I've been getting stronger again. So now what do I do? I don't think I can live a naked life. I don't think I can go back to my closed-off ways either. So where's the gray zone? Where do I land? Do I throw on a scarf and some boots? I know this sounds wacky, but I swear it all makes sense in my head.

Boston makes me contemplative. I like Boston.

i'm so tired tonight. these past two months have been trying, and while i know i've struggled, i know even stronger that there are people who have struggled more. i never wanted it easy. i always prayed for biggness, for God to move in mighty ways. i guess i wasn't fully prepared for him to answer that prayer.

i'm growing to love the catholic church on campus, the way my hair smells like the incense when i leave.

i'm going to boston in a few days, and i think something could be about to happen...i have no idea what, though.

i had to write a bio for myself for a campus literary magazine, and it almost felt like i was writing my own obituary...a very odd feeling. i'm feeling extra-aware of my mortality tonight, and i'm not sure why. it doesn't make me uncomfortable, though.

i want to live life using all 96 crayons in the box.

I spent yesterday evening shaking hands and schmoozing with my aunt and uncle at a reception here at Fordham. Loyola's president came to speak and invited alums, faculty members and students, and since I seem to salivate at the mouth for even the tiniest bit of news from back home, I thought I'd grace them with my presence. Can I just tell you I left that place ready to pull out my cape and boots and charge off to save the world?! While Father Wildes answered questions and reassured us and encouraged us to start preparing for January, the thing I admire most was his effort to make us realize that when we return, we are going to be a part of history. We get to help rebuild the city...more than that, we get to help fix the city and do things right. When I try to explain this to people, a lot of them just sort of nod and smile...they don't quite understand what it is to have a home you love so dearly and that you're so saturated in but you know is in absolute disrepair. This is a chance to get things going in the right direction. And that makes me willing to plow through these next few months so far from home.

I think there's a big chunk of me that feels like I ran out on everyone...my family, my friends that are back in New Orleans, the city itself. I met a couple last night whose son is spending the semester working with the Red Cross in the city, and they sort of began accusing me of just what I've been feeling - not doing my part to help. I realize though that me going back to New Orleans now wouldn't help anyone or anything. After everything my family and I went through, I had to get out. I had to pull away and fix me or I would have gotten trapped in all the tragedy instead of rising above it. I know God's been using these few months in New York to prepare me for something big. And I can't wait to see what it is.

I lost a little of myself through all this - a confidence. When I was younger, people always remarked on my confidence. Maybe it came from my parents, maybe just something inside of me, but I never thought there was anything I couldn't do. When I was 16, an older man in my church (who may have had good intentions, maybe not...he was not a person I enjoyed being around) was talking to me and my youth minister one afternoon. I said something, and this man turned to me with a smirk and asked, "Do you really think you're going to make a difference?!" And before I even opened my mouth, my youth minister said, "Sarah's going to change the world." I fully believed him. Lately I've lost my footing, lost sight of what I love. And that scared the graham crackers out of me. But now I think it's made me stronger. I've realized in all of this that I can't change the world...it's not my job. It's God's. I just get to be a little part of it. And I've realized that I am not the solitary independent creature I've always prided myself on being. I NEED PEOPLE! I have no qualms about screaming that from rooftops now. I'm not strong enough to do it on my own. I'm not self-sufficient. I don't think I want to be anymore.