in Which I have Some Mental Issues. and holiday Cheer.

I tend to see the world in movie trailer form.

Like, I'll imagine walking down the halls of my school and then getting stuck in the bottle neck section right between the science hall and my English class, and just dropping to my knees and screaming. Then I hear the voice over say "and then she just...lost it." And as all the students kind of push back away from me, and I get up and start beating down everyone in sight all River Tam style. And then the music gets epic and the plot is revealed.

BUT THAT IS NOT WHAT I AM FOCUSING ON RIGHT NOW DAMMIT BECAUSE IT IS WINTER BREAK AND I AM HAPPY.

Tomorrow, or rather, today I will be having a great get-together with the other teenagers who helped out at a camp I worked at over the Summer. All these people are made of the essence of win and I am glad to know them. Granted, they are going to be invading my house and that does not make me happy because I don't like hosting parties. But sibling is mostly taking charge of the event so whatevs.

I painted pottery today with a great friend, and that was nice. I'm going to see an amazing concert with another great friend (and possibly the aforementioned great friend) which will kick ass. Oh, also, GOING TO HARRY POTTER LAND WITH THESE FRIENDS BUT YOU KNOW DON'T EVEN WORRY ABOUT THAT BECAUSE I'M GOING TO BE SO IN LOVE WITH LIFE YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW.

I tried to express my joy about these events to my posters today. Sometimes they're supportive, but today they were all apathetic. Probably because I've yet to buy them their Christmas presents. The Beatles (both Hard Days Night and White Album versions) were like "oh, concert then? Good on you. Who's the band?" And I told them, and they were like "who?" Tried to explain and it went kind of over their heads. Generation gaps and all that.

Then I tried to talk to Shakespeare about Harry Potter Land, but he got all stuffy because no one has yet to build him a theme park. And I promised I would see what I could do about that. I don't think he believed me.

John Lennon wasn't too talkative today. Think he was a little tripped out.

And Rorschach.....we aren't really on speaking terms right now. He's still uncomfortable with the whole being in a girl's bedroom thing, and he's remarks are starting to get aggravating. Where else am I supposed to change, you conservative, masked crazypants?!

So, whatever. The posters weren't all that helpful today, but that's alright I guess. I'm probably getting some more for Christmas and maybe one of them will be of Jesus or something. He's good at listening, right? Or like...the cast of Firefly. Maybe Spock. Just a new face would be appreciated.

Eh, I need to clean my room tomorrow. Vacuum away the fleas that are starting to reappear. Maybe rearrange the posters a little, give them a change of pace.

Hey kids, it's almost Christmas! Kind of keep forgetting that. Merry something to all I suppose. Enjoy your dreams of sugarplums or whatever it is your sick minds concoct for your unconscious.

Happy Holidays everybody!

Future Stuff

You know what would be nice? Laying on a quilt, on the floor of my apartment, in front of the lap top that used to be my sibling's, drinking a cup of tea while doing homework for a class I chose to be in. I could go for that right about now.

I had a meeting about my future a few days ago. A brilliant friend of mine has crunched the numbers for what my plans are, and surprisingly, they actually seem like...possible. Granted we have to get my grandma to fork over enough money to get my started, and this job of mine really needs to come through. But otherwise...yeah, kind of possible. I'm not asking for much, really. A small (and I mean small) apartment in a low rent area while going to a Community College for a few years. I've heard of more adventurous college plans but this one seems to work for me. 

I guess I just want to not be here anymore. Here, in this town which would have maybe been a nice place to go to college if I hadn't grown up hating everything about it. Yeah, I'm scared about living on my own in a town that is totally new to me, but I'm terrified of being stuck here.

There is always the chance that it won't work, and I will have to stay here for a term as I get my shit together. But I'm getting out. In a matter of months, I will get out of this damned place with these damned people. Even if my new home will only be 45 minutes away from my old, it's different.  And that's enough for me, at least for now.

It won't be exciting, I know that much. The town is nice but probably pretty damn boring. I really need to take another trip down there to see what there is to do. Relaxing is nice, but really, stuff. Need to be able to do it.

Honestly, I'm looking forward to the little things. Doing all my own dishes, decorating the whole place for whatever Holiday I decide it should be that day, taking a road trip to nowhere with whoever answers the phone at 3 a.m. I want a place to call mine, a school that I wanted to go to, and some people that I decided to be friends with because they don't suck.

Until then though, I have a shit load of stuff to look forward to. Not just college and houses, but Christmas, and THE BEST GIFT EVER (seriously, thank you. I know I said it before but, thank you.), and Harry Effing Potter Land, and being able to legally drive my friends around. Not much longer really, when you add it up. Just a matter of playing the waiting game a little longer.

But it's like the wise man said "It's gonna be the future soon..."

Body Image, and Other Such Problems

A few days ago, I was at my boyfriend's house. I am often at my boyfriend's house and it is usually a pretty good time. Many reasons for that but mostly because I love him, he loves me, his family is great and they feed me. So, yeah, not a bad place to be.

And he has some friends over who I would consider mutual friends of both of us as we've all known each other since Freshman year. And we're all talking and it's a good time and suddenly one of them looks at me and asks-
"Have you lost weight?"
I look down at my stomach and shrug-
"I don't know. Have I?"
"You look like you have."
And then I smile, feel good about myself, say thank you, and then we forget about it ever happening.

Until now.

For the past few days since I was asked if I had lost weight, I have been constantly staring at my reflection wondering if I should be doing more or less sit ups a night. I keep tilting my head back to eliminate the possibility of a second chin. I keep sucking in my stomach without thinking about it, only to wonder if I'm really sucking it in or not. Even now, I keep looking down at the bulge under my shirt only to look back up at the screen immediately because I worry about what I'm about to see.

Image sucks.

I've been called a lot of names in my time. Had a whole lot of unfriendly glances passed my way because I look like a lazy ass bitch. Which, in terms of atheism, you could probably make a case for. I'm strong as an ox but running is death sentence. I can climb up a wall in two minutes flat, so long as it's just straight up with no real curve or challenge, otherwise I will most likely have a stress/fear induced panic attack. I like working out, so long as it is mostly involving muscles rather than aerobics. So, no, I'm not that lazy, I just don't like running. Which is an issue in this town.

I've had this ongoing battle with the girl in the mirror for most of my life. When I was younger, my mother was so damn giddy that I was skinny that she encouraged me to buy bikinis when I was eleven. But then we would get there, rather than having me work a runway as I assume other mothers did when they bought their daughters swim wear, my mom would get this disgusted look on her face and tell me to put it away. Maybe next year. I would sob on those dressing room floors and remember picking up my backpack from the lunchroom table, putting it on, and then having the eighth grade boys across from me start averting their eyes, groaning and calling me "it" because as I put my backpack on, my shirt came up a little over my stomach.

And those were the days when I considered myself skinny.

And now I'm...what? A fat chick? Yeah, you could say that, and I would probably agree with you. But is that enough to treat me like a monster? Like I'm somehow less than the girls that can buy clothes anywhere?

It is easier now than it was in Middle School, oddly enough. People are more alright with the way I look, mostly because of my sparkling personality or some such bullshit. If I'm being openly mocked, it is rare and not too often about my body mass. But still, there is something that you just feel when you walk through those damn halls. Something that makes me tie my jacket around the smallest part of my waist so I can feel just a little thinner. Something that makes it awkward to sit in class, with my belly almost touching the fake wood while all the other girls can sit back in their chairs to the point where they're almost laying down. Something that makes me avert my eyes when I'm going to change for gym, or in the dressing room for some goddamn play.

I do think that I am beautiful. My teeth are pretty bad off but I think I can live with that. I've got pretty nice skin, really great eyes, workable hair, and a proud nose that reminds me of my dad and his bloodlines (you knew I was going to mention my dad at least once.)

I think I'm pretty, my best friends say I'm lovely, and my boyfriend of nine months thinks I'm drop dead sexy. So yeah, I guess that should be enough for me. Right?

Music, and why I enjoy it

I've had this image in my head for the last few years, but I can't decide if I'm good enough to draw it. A teenager, female, laying in a hospital bed. Bandage around her head, rain on the window, and her I.V. port is going up to an iPod pumping music directly into her veins. 

Despite my utter lack of knowledge regarding how to play or read it, I am a very music oriented person. I hear conversations in the context of how they would sound as lyrics. Counting the tempo of my blinkers, clicking away on my dashboard. Hearing a symphony from a few small notes my friend hums. If I love you, I have a song that reminds me of you, and I listen to them all when I'm lonely.

I've thought about the songs I want played at my funeral so many times that I may as well just make a damn playlist about it. I know I want a girl that I barely know to play her cover of "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls, because her voice is so haunting and beautiful that I can almost see myself rising out of my own ashes just to hear it again.

God, I'm so deep.

Sometimes, I'll go on these kicks where I search Google for a friend's band, just to hear them play this one song. Hear the lead singer's voice crack on the high note they haven't learned to hit yet. Practiced fingers sliding along a string.  Drum beats that are almost always on tempo, except for this one section right at the start when they come in just a little too late.

I love music because it keeps me warm, even if the song is broken and curt. When I wrap myself up in the comforting vibrations, I feel safe. When it ends, I shiver. I am learning how to not judge someone based on their taste in music, no matter how ridiculous it may be. Who the Hell am I to decide what good music is? Listen as you will, my friends. Listen as you will.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Music is my God. I will sacrifice myself to it freely and gladly, bleed on its' altar and smile as I fade. Take my soul, ye Gods of Rock 'n Roll. For it is not mine to keep.

That's about it, I guess.  I have a lot to say right now, so I'm probably going to blog more later about other things. But as for music, I've said my rant.

Of Glee, God, and lack there of's (I don't actually know how one would phrase that last bit)

I'm starting out this blog by saying that I have never watched an episode of Glee, I have no idea who these characters are, and chances are pretty damn good that I'm going to miss something important regarding my point in this blog due to my lack of Glee-based understanding. But I'm not really here to talk about Glee, rather the idea of prayer and God during a time of grief and what that does to someone in mourning. I have read every wall-post, argument, praise, and complaint about this subject relating to some recent episode of this show, and yeah, I would like to give my two sense.
And yes, I will be reading all of those blog posts to write this thing as I can't even remember the names of these kids.

From what I can gather, there was this kid named Kurt who is an atheist or just doesn't really believe in God. And then his dad goes into a coma and his friends start praying for him, he is uncomfortable because he doesn't believe in all that stuff. And then his friends (?) Mercedes is like "hey, I know you don't really believe in this, but my church is dedicating a sermon to your dad (or a song, I can't really piece this together) would you like to come?" Or something along those lines. It's nice, and then he's talking to his dad and says "I don't believe in God, but I do believe in you and me." And then I think his dad's hand moves or something. Crappy song plays, credits roll, the end. Apologies if I got it all wrong, but that's what I've been able to figure out so far.

The big argument that seems to be taking place is that Mercedes completely disregards Kurt's belifes by asking him to her church after he has made his point clear, and that the writers of Glee are trying to get across the idea that having no religion will ever be enough for anyone and that we need it or something.

Look, I get it. No, really, I get it. Religion can be used as the deadliest fucking weapon this side of the Atomic bomb. It can be used to brainwash, start wars, convert children, and build the most dedicated mass murdering armies the world has ever seen. As most of you know, I went through a conversion camp as a kid. And while it provides me with an endless source of comedic material as "the Jane Goodall of Christians" it isn't actually that funny. I can't be anywhere near a church without that old guilt biting me in the ass, no matter how liberal and non-Christian that church may be.

Hell, today one of the counselors from the camp came to visit some friends of mine, we got to talking, and I walked away from that conversation in panicked, hyperventilating tears muttering to myself like some damn Vietnam vet having flashbacks.

I get it.
That being said, I'm still really confused why people are getting up in arms about this episode. Some invited their friend to hear a song dedicated to their comatose father. Please, correct me if I'm wrong, but they weren't saying "you're wrong, I'm right, and I will drag your ass before the altar to prove it to you." But more something like "hey, I think this might make you feel better, would you please come see it?" And so the problem is...what exactly? That she ignored what he did or did not believe in, in the the hopes that she could get him to understand where she was coming from and see the gesture that she was trying to make towards him? And if Kurt was really so against going to see this church and its songs, why didn't he just not go?
From this point on, I will be talking in pure observation and personal opinion.

Yes, my dad died, as I've mention and as most of you already know. Lets all be sad for Jessie because her father is a pile of ash in an earn somewhere. No, not my point. I only mention this because it works towards my point that religion can be just as comforting in a time of greif to an Agnostic as it would be to a Christian. Seriously, there were prayer circles happening in my own house. I wasn't a part of them but still, it was kind of nice to see. More towards the Glee point, there were sermons and songs dedicated to my father almost every Sunday, all of which I was personally invited to go see. And you know what? I did.

Know something else? It was nice.

I didn't go because I though this would all magically save my dad, because clearly it didn't, and I never expected it to. Even in the early days of his sickness when I would acutally pray for him, I could still feel that little voice in my head saying "this is pointless." I went because there was this group of hundreds of people all thinking about how much they wanted my father to be well again, and how sad they were to see him pass. And they were expressing that to me in the only way they knew how. I had countless members of that church come and hug me, most of whom I couldn't even name. Yeah, it was a little odd, but it was also really kind. I needed to feel that kind of support from people who barely knew me. It helped.

Before my dad slipped into the coma that would last three days before his body gave out, he requested his memorial service to be done in that church. The one that had dedicated so much time and effort into helping him recover, and helping his family to grieve when he didn't. The one that had get well cards and flowers being sent to his room every day. The one with the head minister that would come over every other day, just to sit with him for a few hours. He didn't want his memorial to be in the hands of people that had never met him, he wanted it to be this church. And I will never stop being thankful to him that it was there.

To sum up:
I don't even know. I'm not trying to prove anyone wrong in this damn post, I'm just making a statement. If I totally missed the point that everyone is trying to make about this episode, forget what I said. This is all based on what I've heard over the course of the day. You have your opinions of religion, and I have mine. The fact that my dad died, and we had churches praying for us doesn't make me any more right than the people I know who hated this episode. I just wanted to give my opinion on this thing. Hence the purpose of a blog.

Of Esther Earl and knowing the dead

This blog is not going to have so much in the way of funny.

Just saying.

Anyway, as most of my Nerdfighter friends know, we recently lost someone very special. Esther Earl died of cancer on the 25th of August. She was sixteen years old. To those of you who did not know who this girl was, it's a little hard to explain. Reason being, I didn't really know who she was either. I heard about her in a Vlogbrother's video, then forgot about her, and then watched another video regarding her death a few months later. Not exactly a lasting relationship.

Which is why I was extremely confused when I realized that I was in this odd state of depression for two days following the news that Esther had died. I asked a few people if they had any input and they all came up with the same answer. "Jessie," they would say. "Your father died of cancer two years ago. You're still hurt and this is reminding you of that. Calm down."

Yes, I agree, I'm still hurting. Yes, there has not been a day in two very long years that I have not thought about my father. Yes, there have been moments when I hit rock bottom that I wish I had been the one laying in that hospital bed, just so I wouldn't have to deal with this cluster of feelings every damn day. But I can very clearly remember not thinking about my dad in relation to Esther when I found out she died. I remember thinking "here was this really interesting, brave girl that I will never meet because she died. That really sucks."

And then I proceeded to cry for a while.

I eventually figured that the only way to remedy this was to try to learn more about Esther through the people that knew her personally, or knew of her. She was brave, empathetic, insightful, in love with Harry Potter (the novels. Not the character), hilarious, giving, and loving beyond reason. And I wanted that to be enough for me, but there was still something missing to this cold comfort.

It was around this time that I then started to watch Esther's youtube channel, as she had pretty well documented the last year of her life, being unaware that it was the last year of her life. Everything I had heard was true. But this time, I got to hear it from her own mouth.

Esther was so much more than I can describe. Not because she was an angel, or some heavensent saint. But because she was a person. In all her love, and laughs, and tears, and flaws, there was that certain special something that makes a person who they are. No one can put a name to it, but it is evident in everyone we've ever known. And it makes me really sad that I only have my small window of Youtube and sites to try to see Esther for the person she was, and continues to be in the people she left behind.

The windows that we see each other through seem to get smaller and smaller after we die. We idealize every death to the point where we forget the person that died. I've done this several times in the last few years, starting with my dad, then Sydney, then my uncle, and now Esther. I only bring up Sydney because I got to know her in much the same way that I've gotten to know Esther. Hearing about her through the girls I went to greif group with was a loving, if not inaccurate, method of getting to know someone. I learned every good and kind thing there was to know about Syd. But like with Esther, I'll never be able to see her for the person she was. Because I never really knew her.

Its a strange feeling, meeting someone after they die.

That being said, I feel like this is something that everyone goes through at some point. Whether its a movie star you loved, or a musician that rocked your world, or just some neighbor kid you kinda knew growing up but not really.

I've had a story idea in my head ever since Esther died, about a college graduate trying to get to the funeral of a girl he used to baby-sit. Its more about the feeling of knowing the dead, and what it means to live than it is about anything else, really. It may end up being my NaNoWriMo project this year, and if so, it's being dedicated to Esther. Not the most kind gesture, given the general suckiness that comes along with the NaNoWriMo writing process. But it really was inspired by her. I may post some of what I already have here on the blog. But we'll see if it comes to that.

Anyway, this is really long. If you've made it this far, great job. You have more attention than I do. Look up Esther Earl on Youtube if you get the chance. Thanks guys.

"Saying you love someone is a good thing."
-Esther.

Currently

I've never had an actual "blog" before, so here's hoping it doesn't bite me in the ass.

I'm finding myself asking some questions right now. What is this thing supposed to be? I've been told it's everything from therapeutic, to an escape from sane thought, to the highest form of whining that doesn't involve the Supreme Court, to just a really popular time killer. Well, I'm a bored teenager with too much time on her hands, so I guess I could use all of it and a bag of chips. Honestly, creating this blog was just a snap decision I made about half an hour ago when I sat down and realized the whole stinkin' world had gotten together and said "hey guys, you know what would be fun? Lets all go this website and type and read what we typed and pray to God that other people will too! Yay!"
And as we all know, I love conforming to stuff.

So here I am, wasting time I could be using to do my homework, typing away at something I will most likely forget about. Sounds about right. I'm not going to talk much about school right now, save for that bit about homework time. Because unlike most of my peers, school passes me by. I'm a B average student (on a good year) and yes, sometimes I want to commit mass homocide against The Man, but otherwise I just don't pay attention to it. Here's this thing that I have to do everyday for one more year, and then I don't have to do it anymore. I think I can pull that off.

I like paragraphs. Even short ones.

I will, however, talk about college and being an adult and other such stuff. As that seems more important to my mind at the moment. In much the same way that, for most of my life, I thought driving was something adults were born doing, I thought college was something my friends were just going to do. That was their plan for after high school, and they were sticking to it. It wasn't something I even thought about until two days ago. I mean really. You basically live in this series of buildings for the first eighteen years of your life, and then you get the chance to leave, only to go live in another series of buildings but this time you pay for it. But now, I'm thinking that maybe this is something I want to do. If only just a little. Because now I have this plan, and projects, and theories on how to save up enough money to live somewhere that isn't here. And I think I'm okay with that.

So, here it is. My first real blog post. Now it's time to pray to the Gods of The BloggerHood that someone reads it.