Which of the standard lines will we use?

To the left of me's the sketch you drew
And to the right I see that book I lent you
To help you through the night

The black of charcoal on my thumbs
But with any luck you'll see the light that comes
From open eyes

It's All Hallow's Eve
Hold my hand
Ahead there's land
We'll row the boat
And leave it on the other shore

Through the wreckage of my college years
I made sure to hold close both my hate and fear
Of letting go

Told you Sunday just how long it's been
You confessed to me fears you'd been holding in
Now we both know

It's all fine with me
Hold my hand
Ahead there's land
We'll row the boat
And leave it on the other shore
Hold my hand
Ahead there's land
We'll row the boat
And leave it on the other shore
Through the fall
Come hell and all
We'll row the boat
And leave it on the other shore

You have no idea how much I wish I'd written that song.

Lately I've been worrying. Isn't that a shocker?

The worrying isn't weighted, though. It's mainly a bunch of that stuff that you tell yourself that you'll think of tomorrow. Right now is one of those fight or flight moments without the intensity of making the right choice.

At this moment, I'm reading a story that I started reading for the first time roughly a year ago to the date. The title comes from a Third Eye Blind song, and you can't pick up a copy of it anywhere. I didn't write it. It doesn't belong to me. I just read it.

And no, this isn't the story of my life or anything. Not even close. And I don't wish it was, either.

As I look back on the past year, I noticed how much I myself have changed. Recently, my two friends and I celebrated our unofficial anniversary of meeting. We met through a writing site. Basically, they've kept me writing.

Not that I would ever stop writing, but I've written so many things about them and they've helped me through so many binds and everything with anything ever. They've encouraged me and just kept me looking for everything.


Change one: Taking note of almost everything.



Also, I've managed to see the blacker side of white.

In this year, I've been denied access by the school that could very well set a good future for me. That might be exaggeration, but it's something that I've wanted. I never realized how cocky and confident I was about the whole situation until I was staring down the words, "We regret that at this time we cannot invite you to enroll in the Creative Writing Department for the 2008-2009 school year".

Change two: Basic humility 101.

Another change is understanding people around me. There's so much depth that I've encountered that I never thought I'd have to face. It seems so unreal how I could have been so blinded by subtlety and the like. I've seen the true yellow and gray shades of life.

I think what makes me think of this most is the notes that I've received- both directly and indirectly- from my sister, Andi. I know I talk about Andi a lot, but to me, she's one of those people that you either talk about as much as you can, or don't say anything at all.

When she came home for the month, she would leave me notes outside my door some mornings and on my pillows when I was gone. Really sincere and beautiful things, too.

I came home one day while she had gone to work. On the open notebook of the autobiography that I was assigned to create for the final large grade in English, I saw a scrap of paper. In my assignment, I was instructed to string together words in an essay about an important person in my life.

You can stop wondering who it was.

The note, in itself, was enough to make the tedious process of creating the autobiography worth it. I won't write what the note says, but it made me just want to think.

And I thought about it.

And I thought so much that I stuck a thumbtack through the note and placed it on my wall of inspiration to watch me while I sleep.

The note, among others, is there to this day.

Change three: Watching things blossom into truths in front of me.

Among all of these changes is a constant variable. Friends. They constantly come and go, and I find myself wondering if it's worth it to try to hold on to them any more.

This year, I've lost friends, and I've gained enemies in addition to losing friends. I've mended a bond between a friend that I never thought I'd have. Friends have moved and kept in well-maintained connections with me.

I shame myself continuously for trying to drag my friends to maturity, and I applaud the ones that have hung on with me for this long.

The reason I chose to mark this point is something that I remember from a while back.

On a particularly rainy November day, I was out with two of my moved away and kept in well-maintained connections with friends. The last true day of autumn. Ready for winter.

As Jeremi flailed and jumped childishly through puddles of water and mud, Noah and I sat on a curb and watched him, envious of his youth and everything he had that we had lost so long ago.

We sat probably ten minutes in complete silence. I remember having this thought:

"I'm sitting in a Wendy's parking lot, in the rain, while Jeremi defends his youth at any price. Of course I'm jealous."

Noah glanced over at me. "What are you thinking?"

His tone was more gentle than prodding, and I knew I had to answer with something.

"Look at him." Jeremi had just face-planted, having tripped over a curb opposite me and Noah. "He's laughing as much as he's bleeding. How can you not want that?"

Noah often praises me for the way I think, which is completely bizarre and new to me. I know that sounds kind of conceited and all, but that's the truth.

The thing that blows my mind is that I'm completely humbled by what he has to say, every time he speaks.

He's one of the wisest people I know. And he's only older than me by three weeks.

Noah is the kind of person who knows how to deal with everything the right way at the right time, unlike some people. Unlike me.

Noah has nothing, and everything.

I remember, for my birthday this past year, he called and left three messages on my phone.

Message one: Explaining why he was leaving a message and what the next two would be like, as a general outline.

Message two: Going through a list of things that I did and how I did them that made him want to continue to be around me.

Message three: Never Coming Back by The Early November. Not the recorded version, either. Hardcore guts and his own guitar playing, his own voice. He completely stunned me.

I just came to say I love you and see if you would be needing anything.
To say thank you and how grateful I am for everything you taught me.
It's those long talks I won't forget.
Just to see you smile, it brings me right to them.
So I'll sit here now and hold your hand.
It's these few long hours that make me what I am.

We laugh about the times,
We laughed so hard until we fell asleep this evening.
And then I watch you there alone, in fear, wishing I could speed your breathing.
And all the wind blows through the trees.
I swear they're angels talking back to me.
And I scream please don't leave me here tonight.
I need you now, I need you in my life.

But you're gone and you're never coming back again.
But you're gone and you're never coming back again.
But you're gone and you're never coming back again.
But you're gone and you're never coming back again.
But you're gone and you're never coming, you're never coming back.
But you're gone and you're never coming back again.

One of my favorite Early November songs ever. I was so impressed that he remembered it.

I don't remember if I told you this before, but Noah was a certified orphan until he started the middle of elementary school. His parents died in 9/11 and Jeremi's family legally adopted him so he could still get an education.

Noah has gone through most things that nobody, regardless of their age, should have to go through. And he still lives through each day with a heightened sense of serenity that makes me want to gouge my eyes out because of sheer jealousy.

A month after my birthday, Noah and Jeremi packed up and moved back to New Jersey.


Change four: Bitter and sweet go together.
Change four-point-five: Irony is a double sided blade.

I've been getting more excited about going to Chicago... I'm not sure what to be more excited about. Being in a big city, going to a camp where many famous people have started, or being with my sister and brother. I've decided to start a new blog for that... I've probably already mentioned that.

My worries are weightless. I feel like I need to say that again. The more I say it, the more it becomes so.

My worries are weightless.

They are.
They are.
They are.

I feel like it's definitely a step forward that I've started to fret over such trivial things now. I'm no longer worrying about my conflicting future paths as much as I am worrying that my iPod is going to break and I'll never be able to get all the songs back on it.

I've started to worry that I'll hit a Writer's Block and my characters will have too much dialogue and not enough action instead of worrying that I'm my friends' mother.

I like to think of it as a step forward. People tell me not to grow up too fast, and I never used to know what they meant until I stopped to think about it.

At this age, I'm not so sure that I want to have the world figured out already.

But, also, I'm afraid that I've also already passed that border somewhat.

My English teacher once talked to me about my maturity level. She related me to the poem Old Age Sticks.

   old age sticks
up Keep
Off
signs)&

youth yanks them
down(old
age
cries No


Tres)&(pas)
youth laughs
(sing
old age

scolds Forbid
den Stop
Must
n't Don't


&)youth goes
right on
gr
owing old

I was surprised by how true it seemed. First, she laughed at me for being so mature that I could understand an ee cummings poem, and then she told me to think about how it related to me.

And as I got back around to it, it made me think of how old I was becoming. Not physically or literally, per say, but mentally and emotionally and all that jazz.

Old age sticks up "Keep off" signs, and youth yanks them down.

Old age considers things way out of her league, like freeing Darfur and how capitalism saved America. Youth is not ashamed of her music and has sleep overs with their friends.

Old age sits on curbs in parking lots on rainy November days, and youth trips off them and laugh as much as it bleeds.

Old age has weightless worries and listens to The Early November and Ludo and has fight or flight moments with her worries. Old age has changed since the past year.

Youth watches the weightless worries float by Old Age and considers them loosely. Youth has seen the blacker shades of white and decided on a whim to not care in the slightest. Youth has matured since last year, but hopes to stay somewhat the same.

Old age scolds. Forbidden. Stop. Mustn't. Don't.

And Youth goes right on, growing old.

You have no idea how much I wish I'd written those songs, or that story, or this poem.