Showing posts from November, 2010


"Well, she's not THAT pregnant."

This statement alone makes my year. This happened months ago, but I still cannot get over it. After hearing a young woman make this astute observation about her friend, multiple conversations pierced through my mind.

"Hey Stacy, how are you feeling today?"
"Oh my Gawd, just totally bloated and pregnant. But I'm hoping it's just a 24 hour thing."

"What's up with you lately Carrie? Something wrong?"
"I just feel a little pregnant today, that's all. I'm gunna take an ibuprofen and lie down."

Last night I watched Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. I should have watched this in high school. Then again, just attending my high school was enough for me to realize the kind of person I did not want to become. I have always tended to brush off politics. Since being here, I realize I have started to pay attention. When Jeff Smith stands up for bringing more kindness into the matters of the people…


I am 25 years old. I am squeezing the teddy bear I've been sleeping with since I was born. My apartment smells like freshly baked cookies. My dog is looking up at me with her big brown eyes. I should be relaxed, but my arms are still slightly shaky. I wrote down what I am going to say and I am still anxious. I know I have to apologize, but am I forfeiting as well? Not really. But it is a difficult place to come to--realizing you have to give up a small part of yourself to admit your fault(s). I don't mind apologizing, and rising above the situation, it's just anticipating that she won't apologize to me that worries me. Why do I care so much? I don't really need an apology do I? I keep looking out the window and thinking I need to get over myself. Pride gets in the way of everything. Blind pride helps keep the red, white and blue stay true. My mind cannot stay still because I am waiting for her to call me back. I thought waiting for a boy to call was excruciating. I…


When I was 18 years old I spontaneously left Belmont University the weekend of valentines day. I had come home that weekend and brought a friend with me. The thought of going back to school seemed torturous. I might as well have been straddling the legs of the dining room table like an infant. When I got back to campus the next day I furiously packed up my dorm room. The next morning, my car packed to the nines, I slipped my key and a note under the door of the RD and bounced. I bring this up because I am beginning to have this feeling again seven years later.
Six months in, six more to go. I can't say much has been accomplished. I can't seem to figure out why I uprooted, using this word loosely here, my life to be at a place only open three days a week. Maybe I'm just having a bad week, the kind where inanimate objects become symbols of frustration. Thus, leading me into a constant swearing frenzy. I know what you may be thinking. I am not PMSing thank you. Patience has b…