tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9647624054519617702024-03-13T11:46:42.903-07:00No One Cadramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.comBlogger128125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-71393742302761516642014-09-18T19:59:00.001-07:002014-09-18T19:59:36.281-07:00There's beauty in broken things.<br />
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There's promise in the breaking.<br />
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There's wistfulness when it's deep.<br />
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There's hunger upon the waking.<br />
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There's faltering and wavering,<br />
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Doubting and delaying,<br />
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Then brashness and surity,<br />
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And finally quiet understanding.<br />
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A rare token is the climb and the rise.<br />
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A reward to be highly valued.<br />
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It's in the fall and on the way down<br />
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That we learn the sadness of silence.<br />
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There's beauty in broken things,<br />
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So be tender and strong and aware,<br />
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It's a full and lonely land,<br />
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We'll all see each other there.<br />
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<br />dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-16575415107455043162014-03-01T08:40:00.001-08:002014-03-01T08:40:33.968-08:00The Thing We Call Passion: Restlesness This thing that screams. With a scream so restless and urgent. The tone of it enough that you beg to be shattered.<br />
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It's the uncontrolled desire to be lost. To forget and be forgotten. It's eager and greedy for adventure and loneliness. But not the lonely part of loneliness, the solid part. <br />
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Being ravenous for the unknown but reluctant to learn, for the things you know you hate. It will not be pacified.<br />
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Living dead center in your chest. It takes you hostage. With lenses that show, you despise the things you thought you loved. The only promise of release...a new place.<br />
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And so you leave. Knowing the thing will be pacified. Lulled into satisfied slumber at the expense of your life.<br />
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You begin to build your kingdom. Piece by piece, until they fit, each part snug against the next. And you smile and release your held breath.<br />
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And in the silence between your exhale and the next breath you breathe. This wild thing awakes and you discover, with equal parts excitement and despair, that the keystone to your kingdom is in the hands of the beast. <br />
<br />dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-21399664732598686202014-02-24T19:14:00.000-08:002014-02-24T19:14:13.325-08:00The Thing We Call Passion: MelancholyThere are moments, there are days, there are weeks when I am filled with the deepest melancholy. As if the only feeling my simple soul recognizes is the tender sadness that floats among the quiet.<br />
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The wild thing inside of me, with the flowing hair and eyes deep as an ancient well, hungers and demands to be fed. Only satiated by the most tragic and heart-bending tales and whispers. <br />
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It can be exhausting. Exposed and turned about by this wild thing. Every whim and request carefully examined for the thread of self-destruction it so very likely holds. <br />
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But alas, there is nothing that can be done. Except to surrender and feed the thing what it so desperately craves. Crying hot tears of sorrow to placate, if only momentarily. <br />
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And you're left feeling spent. The wild thing all consuming until it's gone. Leaving you hollowed out and not unpleasantly empty. And you can proceed, albeit cautiously. For you do not know, and it is never expected, when this wild thing will raise it's beautiful head, hungry. dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-28022801698251961912013-10-03T22:38:00.000-07:002013-10-03T22:38:22.845-07:00It's the moment you realize that everybody is just a little bit broken. We're all hurting somewhere. And in that moment it seems impossibly sad. Disappointment so deep it carves a hole in you. So you take a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and you drink in the reds and oranges, and you remind yourself that there is joy to be had. Not just in the simple pleasures of today but right around the corner. Waiting for you to find and exclaim "I didn't know I could ever be this happy" and you'll hold on to it when the skies are grey and the pain is real and you've pretended happiness for so long you're afraid you've forgotten what true happiness actually feels like. And on some unexpected day in some unexplainable moment you'll realize you're happier than your last happy moment. Something new to hold on to. So keep your head up and your eyes clear, because it's just around the corner. dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-76655299842616866472013-02-19T11:40:00.001-08:002013-02-19T11:40:11.167-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The barn was so old it appeared as if it had grown from the ground. A product of Mother Nature herself. But the memories it held. Of hard work and sacrifice, love and loss, habit and ritual, life and death. The thick earth-and-sunshine smell of hay and alfalfa and oats. Horses warm like the safest most natural place in the world. With an innocence only creatures of instinct carry. Living and breathing exactly the way they were meant to live and breathe. The quiet settling over you as if you were the only person in the world, but without the loneliness solitude can bring. A blissfully heavy awareness of your existence and that no matter the scars from the past or the troubles of the future, every little thing will find a place and that place will be perfect. It's faith. That old barn and those horses were trust and faith and truth and acceptance in their most comforting forms. And she loved every heavenly moment of it. This place fit her. She settled right in. Some deep part of her, maybe it was her heart or soul. But maybe even deeper than that, to the very depths of her being she fit here. The sunrises, the stars, the gravel roads and wild blackberry bushes. The blue jays and deer, the cattle and sheep. Even the run down houses and pathetic convenience stores settled with her. If you find a place like that. A place so full of everything that is the deepest part of you. You'll never leave. You'll stay and become a part of the earth like she was your very own mother. When you never even knew or guessed you could. dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-37554713906293782232012-09-27T20:28:00.001-07:002012-09-27T20:28:31.312-07:00Well..today was a milestone. Or at least I'd like it to be. For those of you who know me and my restless wanderings around this beautiful country I hope you can pause and breathe in the seriousness of this moment. I've planted myself and I think for the first time I'll start to throw out a few roots. While I have been known to promise similar commitments before, either in person or through this blog, I really mean it this time. The proof is in the pudding right? (whatever that means) Well here's your proof. I've officially unpacked all of my belongings. And even further than that...I have, as of just a moment ago, thrown away my packing boxes. All of them. Except for one..(but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it). And to further prove my point, these weren't just cardboard moving boxes I picked up from the local grocery store. These were solid plastic bins and containers. They cost money...and I just threw them away. To be totally honest, only time will tell if I can make good on my statement of stability.. but like I said.. I think today was a milestone. :)<br />
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And another thing. My mom wasn't one of those mothers that was super strict about making your bed.. in fact I remember my mom teaching me how to make a bed, but I don't remember actually using that skill in my childhood. Or now that I think about it.. ever using it. But since I moved into my new place I've made my bed every single day, Coming up on two months. (That's a life record) I'm not sure if that's a sign of my growing maturity.. or if maybe I'm just proud of my space. Either way I feel just a little bit more grown up.dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-82389796220553154532012-09-11T11:07:00.000-07:002012-09-11T11:07:50.738-07:00My blog up to this point, has been primarily creative writing pieces or poems or short thoughts based mostly on heartbreak, or sadness or simply feeling lost. That's pretty much because those are the things that inspire me. I've always struggled with writing about things that make me happy, and I've put a lot of thought into why that might be. A thought came to me this morning on that particular topic.. I think it's because in the last several years, I haven't had much that made me so profoundly happy that I was stirred to write about it. The strongest emotions bring out the most beautiful work, and my strongest emotions have been laced with bitterness and melancholy.<br />
But! Today, as I look around at my new sweet little bedroom, as I look out my window at my quiet tree lined street, as I feel the ceiling fan mixed with the breeze through the window bringing me scents of trees and fresh cut grass, as I think about my new job and the joy I feel at bringing new life to those in need I feel deep and distinct joy. I look forward to the future with a happiness in my heart that I barely recognize. While there are still troubles and stress, I can't help but think about the check I wrote yesterday. My first month's rent. The biggest check I've ever written and I smile because I know it'll go through and I won't have to eat noodles and rice until my next paycheck.<br />
I think what I'm trying to say is, for the first time, in a long time.. I'm proud of the choices I've made that got me here. I feel strong and confident. I feel emotionally stable enough to handle anything. And that means everything to me right now.dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-3728145994898429512012-05-17T07:14:00.000-07:002012-05-17T07:14:24.662-07:00The longer you take to decide, the more painful this becomes. I can not stop loving you. Which makes this undeniable feeling deep in my middle unbearable. To think that after all this waiting, I will be the one left disappointed. I would never say you're not worth the wait. I'm saying I won't do it anymore. And when I think about it, I shouldn't have to. Don't I deserve to be loved with all of a heart? Why must I settle for being loved by only part of one? I had big dreams and high hopes for us, and it feels nearly impossible to let those go. But all this time I've been yours, you've never been mine. And knowing that hurts worse than letting go of whatever future we might have had. So I'm letting go. Because the decision is too hard for you to make, I will make it for you. I love you. Maybe someday we can try again.dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-58201952204368373542012-04-30T22:47:00.001-07:002012-04-30T22:47:13.958-07:00GoodbyeGoodbyes have never been especially difficult for me. I have always thought that there's no use being sad over what's left behind, because there are always more exciting things ahead. I don't cry, and I always sort of wonder at people who do. Goodbyes have been easy for me.<br />
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Except for this goodbye. This one has been extraordinarily sad. And I'm not quite sure how to handle it.<br />
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I'm crying, and I can't even stop. Maybe it's because this thing we had was just getting started and I'm not ready to let go, or maybe it's because I've become comfortable and this change seems a little scary. I'm not the type to be scared of the unknown but to be honest, I'm a little nervous.<br />
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I've come to depend on you, and knowing that you won't be there and that we might never have these moments again is terrifyingly heart-breaking. I know I'll be fine, and maybe I'm a little over dramatic but I'm going to feel this ache and hold it for tonight, so that tomorrow I can remember all the good we had. I'll miss you.. like crazy.dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-86396940639952373732012-04-15T19:10:00.001-07:002012-04-15T19:10:15.660-07:00"It is not true we only have one life to love, if we can read, we can live as many lives and as many kinds of lives as we wish"<br />
-S.I. Hayakawa<br />
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" To acquire the habit of reading is to construct for yourself a refuge from almost all of the miseries of life"<br />
-William Somerset Maugham<br />
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<br />dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-30351592904383232352012-04-15T18:47:00.005-07:002012-04-15T18:47:58.685-07:00" If you love two people at the same time, choose the second one. Because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn't have fallen for the second."<div>
-Johnny Depp</div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-38415848400316787982012-04-13T13:06:00.000-07:002012-04-13T13:06:10.906-07:00And just like many times before I can let you go and move on. Remember my old dreams and move towards them alone. And while I do love you, love you with an ache that pulls me towards you in the toughest times, I know in the deepest part of my heart that these are fleeting moments. Moments that are beautiful and healing but that are not meant to last. And of all the things I've learned the most important is to trust myself. So I must let you go now. Find your own dreams but don't forget that I so deeply wanted you to be a part of mine. You have a beautiful heart and a quick mind, perfect humor and a gentle touch. So we will part and I will smile, because I needed you.. and I think you needed me too.<br />
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<br />dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-75248506478575027742012-02-23T09:26:00.003-08:002012-02-23T09:26:48.016-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-69980786228445481492011-11-17T00:13:00.000-08:002011-11-17T00:29:57.937-08:00Letter to the Very Nice but so Not Right<div>
Dear Boy, (I'm sorry but that's what you are)</div>
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I don't like the way you smell,</div>
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or the way you dress.</div>
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I don't like your job,</div>
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or the way you talk.</div>
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I don't like the way you act around me, </div>
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or the way you act around your friends.</div>
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I don't like anything about you really.</div>
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And it's not because I don't like you as a person...no that's not it at all. You're great I'm sure. It's just I don't like you because you're wrong. So very very wrong for me. You were probably very right for me some time ago.. yes, my 19 year old self would have swooned at the attention. But not this me. This me knows what she wants and I'm sorry.. you're just not it. And, actually I don't think we should hang out again, of course we'll see each other, we have to. But please don't be nice to me, and don't stare as I walk by. And I won't talk to you, or smile at you. It might be better if we pretended we didn't know each other at all. I know this probably comes off as terribly rude, I just don't want there to be any confusion later on or mixed signals or anything like that. So, this is goodbye. Thanks for everything, really.</div>
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Sincerely,</div>
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Just-not-interested-no-matter-how-hard-I-try</div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-14194701720162347452011-11-09T14:04:00.000-08:002011-11-13T20:47:25.748-08:00Because<div><div align="center">It's because I can't keep my room clean</div><div align="center">Because I can't stop watching Grey's Anatomy,</div><div> </div><div align="center">It's because I have this thing inside me,</div><div align="center">This thing that I'm now apart of</div><div> </div><div align="center">Because that thing is cozy now,</div><div align="center">Where once it was lonely.</div><div> </div><div align="center">It's because none of my clothes fit,</div><div align="center">and I don't like them anyway</div><div> </div><div align="center">It's because of this ache, </div><div align="center">That is so incredibly difficult</div><div> </div><div align="center">It's because effortless beauty is lost</div><div align="center">Because I don't know how to get it back.</div><div> </div><div align="center">It's because of this energy,</div><div align="center">Because of this anger.</div><div> </div><div align="center">It's because of these friendships,</div><div align="center">Because of our pain</div><div> </div><div align="center">It's this adventure,</div><div align="center">That doesn't seem so very exciting at times,</div><div align="center">This ride,</div><div align="center">That sometimes seems more scary than fun,</div><div align="center">It's this thing,</div><div align="center">This thing inside of me</div><div align="center">That I just don't know what to do with.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div> <img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 240px; height: 200px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673123990888326386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjNwN9jhCNb0p0kfONgd53pAMzC7XYotu8myeLF5UapaGcBlyIM6spejksR2DczgrU57NbF84-fd30m-rTizZMPqsSLnJlayrb8toiYURyvg5Z6U1IintjP8XrER-I6363_XcqiGX7Ftn/s320/alone-art-beautiful-cute-fashion-girl-Favim.com-105637_thumb.jpg" /></div><div> </div></div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-80759162446573198942011-05-30T08:52:00.000-07:002011-05-30T09:06:51.477-07:00maybe.<div style="text-align: center;">Maybe I was only meant for a friend or two.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe I was only made with a little bit of compromise.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe I was built for a different life.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Or maybe the life I'm building should be different.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe I'm a gypsy.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And maybe that's okay.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So far, since I turned 18 I've been in a state of perpetually in-between.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm in-between spontaneous and prepared.</div><div style="text-align: center;">In-between what I want to do, and what I know I should do.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm learning that this constant state of in-between..is a stagnant place.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I've neither done what I wanted, or done what I know I should.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Just sort of lived. Floating along.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">On this particular gloomy morning. After some much needed time spent in the sun.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm leaning towards do what I want.</div><div style="text-align: center;">What I should is boring.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So I'll work hard. Save my money.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Use the free I've been given and take a few classes.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And in 6 months time. I'll have a new plan and a new place.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Just you wait and see.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm only living the best from now on.</div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-26302814376065635372011-04-13T13:05:00.000-07:002011-04-13T13:39:13.000-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If you're out there.. somewhere.. reading this. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Know that I'm happy for you. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Know that just like I always did</div><div style="text-align: center;">I only wish the best the world has to offer for you.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Know that all of the hurt is gone.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And that even though the hurt is gone</div><div style="text-align: center;">I will never forget how it felt.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Know that I've forgotten the fights, and tears</div><div style="text-align: center;">the silent days, and the hurtful words</div><div style="text-align: center;">And when I think of us, </div><div style="text-align: center;">I think of the laughter, </div><div style="text-align: center;">the late nights spent on the couch testing boundaries.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The soft kisses, and lazy days. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Know that you got my heart racing, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and my blood pumping like very few before you.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And our first kiss, is still my favorite kiss.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Know that there are many things I love about you</div><div style="text-align: center;">And if the timing had been different, </div><div style="text-align: center;">maybe we would have lasted for eternity.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But you should also know...</div><div style="text-align: center;">You're the only thing I regret.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And if I could go back and do it over again</div><div style="text-align: center;">I wouldn't choose you twice.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckbWvXapWo57WTZRZmNqpa5OpdJVc72v-eiZB6KwV-wgmTVAohbIBu8hXKw70auZBowgPvj-k9r2jA_2xPDneobvysnvj-VzEldVsYzE6iyqttPbOQHaFtreQEFxMgMwnd0mDRTfzAzWh/s320/heart%252Cdress%252Cgirl%252Croad%252Csky%252Clove-53b1eb06dd1314205b7a10e18777c550_h.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 235px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595169953274637570" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-6633252369018382852011-04-07T15:00:00.000-07:002011-04-07T15:13:21.140-07:00Apple Trees<div style="text-align: center;">My roommate sent this to me and I kinda liked it..</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 128, 0); font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; font-size: medium; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 128, 0); font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; font-size: medium; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 128, 0); font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; font-size: medium; ">Girls are like</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; font-size: medium; "><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 128, 0); ">apples on trees. The best</span></div><span class="leaves" style="color: green; "><div style="text-align: center;">ones are at the top of the tree.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The boys don't want to reach for</div><div style="text-align: center;">the good ones because they are afraid</div><div style="text-align: center;">of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they</div><div style="text-align: center;">just get the rotten apples from the ground</div><div style="text-align: center;">that aren't as good, but easy. So the apples</div><div style="text-align: center;">at the top think something is wrong with</div><div style="text-align: center;">them, when in reality, they're amazing.</div><div style="text-align: center;">They just have to wait for the right</div><div style="text-align: center;">boy to come along, the one</div><div style="text-align: center;">who's brave enough</div></span><span class="trunk" style="color: rgb(210, 105, 30); "><div style="text-align: center;">to climb</div><div style="text-align: center;">all the way</div><div style="text-align: center;">to the top</div><div style="text-align: center;">of the tree.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXCw-Q0xLSNmqNPBxYjirBeoGotYp3lfQ_0IngeL_jf3AshZoaZ78Dl-OSLsJ-ljDBiZxOCBv4FnpTvaKzwzlmtfyn4sna_GNlS8GsW8hT_ks29A0RHRZIEFV3_loxWA5INSBVU8r_D9A/s320/apples-on_the_fence.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592966404462025634" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></span>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-9021430665406849222011-04-05T09:24:00.000-07:002011-04-05T09:34:22.454-07:00I've Made Up My Mind.. and I'm sticking to it<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Remember <a href="http://kissedbyaraingod.blogspot.com/2009/06/food-fantasies.html">this</a> post?<div><br /></div><div>Well.. I've finally made my decision and that's it. </div><div>I will not change my mind.</div><div>I will push through this decision, even if it's hard, even if there are boys (there's always boys) and even if I hate my living arrangements.</div><div>I will not leave until I'm done.</div><div>(Unless a bolt of lightning strikes me in my chest.. touches my heart and inspires me to pick up and start over...again)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Culinary Arts Program.</div><div>The French Pastry School.</div><div>My Own Bakery/Bookstore.</div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW_RFUL1xKzRjc3Yhu6DI4bHDeZdQVi_pV3zhHVmWDve1j4KSN8ZES1vOquF4bRJ6Ldj4Ura06DDhuyljJCdvUM7ynDjQry6Nm1VtGfNO6BV3rS7rI2CvIWx3ShKy-fx9fk5sJJFKfxlx1/s320/360849007oemWUL_ph.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592138395006138466" /><div><div style="text-align: center;">And it will look like this.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoXswHqLvXhGehX90qa5OBKpzGW72EykqhHMfkwYKlSgTgM4IynJQ1OAfcSNbfxjN_MiRuSRq9cRxpQSOwH2tM3BP_Hjn5McWEBxo9C8Rs6DFhlWeEEYRP5kjmbrU9_jc3TwMjdIi9-tF/s320/chocholate_cake_01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 202px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592138398788848562" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And I will bake these.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-57548199070399151672011-03-29T17:00:00.000-07:002011-03-29T17:13:48.619-07:00Where To Next?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyids4hoIw14N5D6EJqrzqRGUP9pR131v6h3ML41MxGFPac-JuWCaerMfIx8Gz68YAD48ubhsSTAsWG8QJ7pmZ39RsmRyMV3FLBUSmV2YN0MPUOrUs-0mpvC2NOeeKwspM5HTHMGinHRt_/s1600/traveling-girl.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyids4hoIw14N5D6EJqrzqRGUP9pR131v6h3ML41MxGFPac-JuWCaerMfIx8Gz68YAD48ubhsSTAsWG8QJ7pmZ39RsmRyMV3FLBUSmV2YN0MPUOrUs-0mpvC2NOeeKwspM5HTHMGinHRt_/s320/traveling-girl.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589657442961966626" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I can feel myself getting restless. </div><div style="text-align: center;">And only 3 months in this place.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Just learn how to be happy where you are some might say</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am happy where I am.</div><div style="text-align: center;">But not content, never content.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And that's not always a fun feeling.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-66110269822931559882011-03-21T13:31:00.000-07:002011-03-21T13:43:19.378-07:00They Only Kill Their Masters<div style="text-align: center;">I recently got a job at a breeding and training kennel called Family Dobes. It's tons of fun and I absolutely love it. I can't think of any job more enjoyable than playing with puppies all day :) Below is a copy of the blog post I wrote for the website. <a href="http://familydobes.com/">familydobes.com</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> I haven't been working at Family Dobes for too long, but I finally feel like I'm getting into the swing of things.Their personalities are becoming more clear to me and I'm just beginning to recognize whose bark belongs to who. I've been practicing my mothering skills on Medeia's puppies over the past few weeks and I almost feel like an empty nester now that so many of them are grown up (enough) and gone. But I do have Lavinia's impending litter to look forward to, (I'm sure she can't wait either) should be any day now.</div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Today was a pretty normal day excluding the fact that there was training going on in the front field which always induces widespread anxious/excited/pick-me-next barking. But we made it through with little to no trouble. The puppies that are left never fail to provide endless entertainment with their little adventures and quizzical looks when I talk to them in the baby voice I only use when no one's around. Zenny and Medeia continue to impress me with their good looks and one of these days I want to see Texa in action. She lives to work, there's no doubt about it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>These are pictures of Medeia, my favorite female (who's puppies are now almost all gone) and a couple of her sweet babies, and the fourth one is Lavina who's puppies are due today!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKyvcOSp_1DX3BdjMcW0bY3aRN1WyGjfZzN5iPsGIZirhv5HM1a0XOSJEs7uAm6Nh37k9RZovgneUeirGUg2M7f40_dNiCnZ5x8Lj6OsLZdmiXTYvJwD6_-21gfALJsdaKCbIFrF-919Yd/s320/Medeia+%25285%2529.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 208px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586635175296931266" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIKPjX6iK6WYDrJDTsyJ3GOJiz8A4MzlMDNCmj-l0Iukgf1cnQ4jN_MuAIKeijt98xHpD217HEYVDOiD64k1xVryXH-U-O1le_RBtg2TABaBYGoRAXLe7mVs7B1eScw2ELjGmvJmjajxe/s320/Doberman+Family+Dobes+AP+Litter+yellow+stripe+female+%25288%2529.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 230px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586635414925100594" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCAgPwdOFna1NxWWK9b8V1PTKZiAPElII8mU9fyCyWtE-cljhp84JvXeNuL-C3LOzzFKH_65VLzeU_spDdJxjAyUSYZnzI7A5oeHVW0udgdMa0wE5SGzslYJZg4WVzl53jjJlNYVf-9SdD/s320/Doberman+Family+Dobes+AO+Litter+5+weeks+%25284%2529.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 257px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586635410715783442" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_Pju7MOyEnBFu0-7r5dyrc0xH7voX-9lC7c5mYmZYFb7mdRQ9re3UV7DaxmEiiAc85UMzt-WYZbTPkJwoFFYZF9iUES9bNbmtcduiMhwMRKF2A-2H5LGscgzJFOb2jgi6URHOnxWPzRE/s320/Doberman+Family+Dobes+Lavina+%25284%2529.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586635414323326434" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><br /></div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-72797816805698431422011-03-17T14:38:00.000-07:002011-03-17T14:57:40.077-07:00I'm Feeling FreeThere are mornings, as I lay in my perfectly cozy bed in my tiny basement room, when the inspiring realization sinks into me that this is <i>my</i> life. My very own. I can make it whatever I choose.<div><br /></div><div>There needn't be a preconceived notion that my life should follow the tracks laid before me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have the skills, and am fully able to pave my own way. New roads, undiscovered scenery, small towns, big cities, all waiting for some new life to discover them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just because I was born and raised on the west coast doesn't mean I can't make a home in the east.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have a short time that was allotted to me, and wouldn't it be such a shame to waste even one of those days?</div><div><br /></div><div>Every day we must live our lives as the people we hope to be. Simply surviving each day won't help us along our way. And I am deeply grateful that I have been given the opportunities and the good fortune to be able to choose the life I wish to lead.</div><div><br /></div><div>We have been given so many opportunities in this world, so many different ways to become great people, I want to go out and find the best place for me. </div><div><br /></div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-658724553711800912011-03-11T21:05:00.000-08:002011-03-11T21:53:14.650-08:00Beautiful Days<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIT5V6NeJzvwLm5Bu5HE9Ob0yDm-_x9KLijRjQJXmKi-wMIpZtnOgmk8E3MysVmngH3hXz1ZftQ9I-XU843hVRB0mXimBTONlbCiuglWH8hv07T8lmJTtqNJ2lYo_3x8beugoEiIHu513c/s1600/Bay+window+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIT5V6NeJzvwLm5Bu5HE9Ob0yDm-_x9KLijRjQJXmKi-wMIpZtnOgmk8E3MysVmngH3hXz1ZftQ9I-XU843hVRB0mXimBTONlbCiuglWH8hv07T8lmJTtqNJ2lYo_3x8beugoEiIHu513c/s320/Bay+window+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583055220903371730" /></a><br /><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">It was a softly warm day, and the smooth fabric of her pale yellow sun dress felt cool against her skin. Her bare feet squishing into the luxurious carpet as she moved towards the piano. </div><div style="text-align: center;">This old piano, with the dark wood and gold lettering. Worn ivory keys yellowing from age. </div><div style="text-align: center;">This piano she had filled with her hope, her future, her sorrow, frustration, and even anger. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Her love and passion.</div><div style="text-align: center;">She remembered the tears she'd dropped on the keys as she played, her fingers brushing them away as the beautiful melodies strung along behind her. </div><div style="text-align: center;"> Each feeling passing through her delicate fingers into the keys of this old piano. </div><div style="text-align: center;">She sat down on the familiar bench. She'd spent hours on this bench, it had been given to her by an old piano teacher in exchange for walking the woman's dog. </div><div style="text-align: center;">She gently placed her fingertips on the worn keys.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> It had been years since she'd seen this piano. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Years since she'd even made music. </div><div style="text-align: center;">But her beautiful hands remembered, and she began to play.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Quiet and hesitantly she began to play.</div><div style="text-align: center;">It was intoxicating</div><div style="text-align: center;">Each note filled the room, one after the other and she began to forget.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Forget the cumulative hours she sat stubbornly in front of this piano refusing to practice another minute. She began to forget the words of her parents about how she was wasting her talent, and all the times she'd lied about her practice hours to her teacher.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> She forgot all those nights when she wasn't allowed to go to high school football games or the movies because she hadn't practiced that day. And as she played she began to remember.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Remember why she loved the piano and why she started playing in the first place.</div><div style="text-align: center;">She remembered how she loved the way the music flowed through her, and what it felt like to create something beautiful. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Her fingers and wrists settled in and relished the familiar movement.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This bench and this piano felt more like home than any of the many houses she'd grown up in.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Throughout her turbulent life, this piano remained.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And she loved it. </div><div style="text-align: center;">And even still, the flowing melody of piano music stirs in her soul a sweet longing for days past, and a new hope for days still to come. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCagpulD3_pNi6cQQ55zh4ZmhyphenhyphenSo4-yUsDnI9y0n8FUNUd5LZ4tv68lVmrlWRC9rtaSHLnbfkncWvCVvm9Vz6JSdj1zVO59eSFu44stbAnZaaNQwCwpV1zbGopmZjlJOTgGIwAZcG1wVE4/s400/stock-photo-closeup-of-black-and-white-piano-keys-and-wood-grain-with-sepia-tone-46841872.jpg" /></div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-7092356994903217092011-02-28T11:04:00.000-08:002011-02-28T11:41:46.693-08:00Mornings When Visions of the Future Are What You Wake Up To<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to feel nothing but the reverberating bass in my chest and I want to dance with it</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to sing until my throat hurts and my voice has left me</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to see the turquoise water and the white sandy beaches on the coast of Samoa,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to take in the beauty of this world. All of it. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to hear the laughter of those I love and smile at their joy.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to inspire action, and facilitate change.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to play the piano as if the love for the instrument hadn't been practiced out of me.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to read. Escape to worlds long past, and worlds far future.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to haggle for pricing at a market in a</div><div style="text-align: center;"> foreign language.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want a cottage as my home.</div><div style="text-align: center;">A home that is always open.</div><div style="text-align: center;">With a garden outside my window.</div><div style="text-align: center;">With a few dogs and a few kids having adventures in the back yard.</div><div style="text-align: center;">With a kitchen always full</div><div style="text-align: center;">Full of sunshine, wonderful food, chatter and stories.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want a husband.</div><div style="text-align: center;">A husband who will smile and kiss me.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want peaceful nights, and early mornings.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want my wounds to heal</div><div style="text-align: center;">and to find a place where I won't get any more.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to forget.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Forget about everything except for what I learned.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to create.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to live in my swimsuit and work at a surf shop</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to be in the sun, and warm water</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to meet a million people and always be close to my best friend</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to go out every night</div><div style="text-align: center;">to bonfires on the beach</div><div style="text-align: center;">and clubs and hole-in-the-wall pubs.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want my skin to tan.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to feel. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to live life the best I can.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want to take advantage of the time that's been given.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I want...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84o0MP2IHuG0k6r_RKyDth7oD7cKuUfWF5H3Z3P8q4Md4uHLCfkb4zYFT3A4t4hdDntEPRhwzZQ6wVyPwGLesmTbdpG_Hb37MXRl2cRj94Av5CiOwuxt-eGN_7il-9FmbY6a7d6KlDtot/s320/dance%252Cdancing%252Cgirl%252Cphotography%252Cshadows%252Csilhouette-0df26441e9bfdf935680b31ab2abaded_h.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578826079868014210" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-964762405451961770.post-36476239788703018842011-02-17T08:07:00.001-08:002011-02-17T08:09:06.281-08:00Jar of Hearts<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; ">Once in a blue moon, I'll hear a song. A song that when it plays I think to myself.. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; ">I could have easily written that. Not for the simplicity of lyrics, or the repetitiveness of melody..</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "> but because those are the words my heart has been searching for. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; ">The ones that if I had known how to express my feelings they are the words I would have used.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "> And in that exact order.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Some songs have a powerful message.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Some have a beautiful melody.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Some have lyrics that are soothing to your soul.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And even more just make you want to dance.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It is a rare thing, to find a song that carries all of these qualities. </div><div style="text-align: center;">This song. Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri.</div><div style="text-align: center;">She knows. Because I couldn't have said it better myself.</div></span>dramaspicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01962473577551584832noreply@blogger.com0