only if you want to will you hear me say, only if you want to will you find a way

So... I'm really tired and it's really late and it's been a really good day, and I'm listening to Enya which is giving me weird nonstoligic feelings... so in short my skin is the only thing keeping me from flying into a million pieces at the moment.

SIDE NOTE: I've decided to continue using this blog to write about my life, while using the other blog for my more sophistocated and impersonal musings. I'm sorry that you all now have two blogs to check and I will not be at all offended if you choose to only follow one or the other- in fact, having two different kinds of audiences is one of my reasons for doing this. I just find that in writing blog posts I'm constantly torn between these two styles and I always feel that going back and forth weakens my purpose in either one, so long story short, this is what I've come to- twin blogs, my head and my heart, always conflicting and complimenting one another like the two sides of me.

Every now and then I start feeling the need to write out the whole story of my life- not in a readable way, not like a novel, just to put all the facts and high points and low points before my eyes so I can keep track of it and figure out where it should logically go from here. It's weird being this old and having so many experiences, people, and ways of thinking completely behind me now. I'm so afraid of forgetting about it all, although there's lots that wouldn't necessarily be bad to forget, I suppose... it's just my life, and I somehow want to hold on to it. Try to make some meaning out of the chaos.

But it's weird, because most of it is pretty ugly- not because I haven't been extreemly blessed but because I've never had the talent of doing life gracefully. My life would make a terrible movie in that sense, unless it was some formula comming of age story in which I finally got skinny and popular and acheived my dreams. That's not the plot line we're called to live for though, is it? My story, as with most Christian's, would be a often dark struggle against sin which has no real begining or end except for Christ, and then He becomes the story and I'm just a sub-plot. I'm trying to think of my life like that instead of trying to make sense of it in a rising action, climax, falling action sort of way. It's funny that I become preocupied with thinking about life this way, but I do.

Today, my first official day of being done with school, was spent in reading and writing and gathering music all by myself until about five oclock, at which point I started to go stir crazy and so decided to go with my parents to pick up our new oven in Gig Harbor. And it was just sooooooooo beautiful outside, and I had new music to listen to which was sooooooo inspiring, I felt about as perfectly happy as I ever have. And then I came home and felt perfectly content to just sit with my siblings and watch a movie. Usually I HAVE to be doing something when I'm watching a movie or I feel restless and unproductive, but I was too perfectly contented and stable to care.

I don't know quite how to describe it, but it seems like a lot of times I run around doing tons of things in this vain attempt to feel completed or fufilled or whatever by it, and no matter how significant what I'm doing is, it never works. And then suddenly I'll somehow break through to a point where even the smallest tasks have a perfect joy associated with them when they can be carried out thouroughly and carefully, and while listening to music and interacting with the people around me instead of being caught up in the storm cloud of thoughts and emotions and worries that push me on most of the time. Today was one of those days where this perfect, satisfiying joy was reached, and now I just don't ever want it to eeeeeeeeend.

So I'll sit here on the floor with my little desk lamp casting ginormous shadows of me across the entire room and read and write and sing as softly as possible so as not to wake the little sister. I've already danced out all the excess energy coursing through my veins like too much caffine. At the end of this I will be thouroughly exausted, but it doesn't even matter, since it's spring break.