I have started this new thing. When I work out, I like to do my cardio first because that is what I find the most trying. I like to get the difficult things out of the way in order to let myself know, it just is going to keep getting easier. Sometimes when I am running on the treadmill it feels like I am running downhill, but the way I interpret is that with each step I am closer to becoming who I want to be: a faster, stronger, sexier, irresistible, me.
Like I said I have started this new thing, where after I do my cardio and then my lifting and my stretching, I go back on the treadmill. I go back on the treadmill and I run a quarter mile as hard as I can. Why do I do this? To let out the frustrations in my life… The frustrations of the past: the things people have said to me, the things that have brought me down and left me feeling helpless, the things that I think about when new frustrations occur, the things that lead me to question my actions, my thoughts, my feelings. The potential frustrations of the future: the new people I meet who will have preconceived notions of who I am, where I have been, and where I want to go. And, of course, the frustrations of the present: the things that pull on the back strings of my mind when I feel like giving in, the things that cause self bewilderment, the things that push me to no longer be a joke to those who are fortunate enough to be the objects of my affection. I want to have the last laugh.
Oh and until then, my body cries sweat and my mind makes dreams of former setbacks. My soul works as a machine, it takes remarks, glances, and the will to succeed and compounds them into one and then feeds it to me for breakfast, lunch, dinner and those snacks in between. I feed myself on the need to be better, to be someone that my parents can say, “that’s my girl” and to be the girl that others girls say, “I wish she was my girl.” I want other people to be able to see the blacks of my eyes as symbols of the dark passion that rests under the genetic makeup of a carefree kid.

Summer in the suburbs reminds me of middle school. Barbeques, green grass, the dog that runs back in forth on the line, cooling off with the hose, getting the car washed, riding your bike around the block without worry, softball, the pool, crushes that you hope you run into now that school is out, sidewalk chalk and childhood best friends, playing catch with dad, the neighborhood kickball games, the Sunday parties at grandma’s house, finding golf balls, going to the games, dancing in the kitchen with mom, adventures with Angela, climbing trees, oreo milkshakes, and real family vacations.
I am sitting on the Atchue family deck under the shade of the large awning, and to my left there is a large grill with a nice piece of sausage crackling over the coals, and to my right Chunky the chocolate lab makes a bed near his dog house. When I look out towards the lawn, I see little critters jumping back and forth near where the green grass becomes a series of stones, and eventually a small forest. I forgot how chipmunks jump, I’m glad the rats don’t do that in the city.
I should imagine that when Matt was a kid, like me, he’d go on adventures through the woods, imagining that he would find some unknown path. I wouldn’t mind getting lost in the woods, there was always so much excitement about getting lost back then, but now, to be lost is to be without direction, it seems to be not as fun. Why is that? Sometimes it’s not necessary to know what the next move is, you can’t predict how things will go.
The smell of barbeque permeates throughout the neighborhood. That’s one thing I miss in the city, the smell of that barbeque going.
Quote:
“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.” – J.R.R. Tolkien

As I was sitting with Matt today I had told him that I wished he had a blog. He proceeded to tell me that he feels like when you write something that can be read by anyone, it puts a censor on what can be written. Which got me thinking about the different purposes of blogging. What is the point of writing about your feelings if you cannot allow your whole thoughts to gush out with each sentence?  Sometimes I am tempted to write exactly how I feel, to just say it, with reckless abandon, but then again that’s what my personal journal is for. However, maybe if I did specifically say when “Susan” did this to me in April, it made me feel “…” It would allow for a more personal connection between the writer and the reader. Or, it would be more beneficial to me to actually write out things specifically instead of trying to sugarcoat or say things in an ambiguous manner. 
Tonight, I am going to write about my feelings in two ways one will be the ambiguous and the other will be straightforward:
 
Incidences that are Metaphors for life this weekend:
-       I was getting into the sailboat, when my partner got in before I was where I needed to be. The boat tipped over and we both were swimming in the gross dock water. With a small ladder and a strong arm I was able to get out.
-       Sometimes, in the most peculiar places, I will find a penny heads up.
-       I broke a mirror.
-       I watched Gone with the Wind but only the parts that Rhett Butler and Scarlett are interacting. My heart still breaks when he ends up leaving on a misunderstanding.
-       Scarlett definitely will get him back.
-       There is a lot of serious junk in the trunk of my car.
-       I need to clear out my storage facility in Jamaica Plain.
-       I deleted people on FB who don’t say hi to me in real life.
 
I am scared. I am scared that I am not going to finish the goals I have for myself this summer. I am scared that even though I know that they are attainable, the only way of getting them done is to actually do it. I am scared that if I don’t go back to Cleveland this summer I may not get to see my great aunt Angela (age 99) before she dies.  She’s one of the people in this world that don’t know how much I love her and I need to do a better job of expressing my appreciation for her. I miss my mom and my dad, even though I act like I don’t. When you live on your own, there isn’t always that friendly face or that pat on the back that you get when you’ve just fallen off the boat. The other day when I fell out of the sailboat into the water, I felt really grownup, it may sound like a silly thing to say, but when you publically make mistakes there used to be a time where someone was right there telling you don’t worry, get up, try again. However, that’s the way life is. Your parents do all they can do and you either learn from it or you don’t, or you just keep going until you learn on your own.
I am scared that by saying what I am afraid of it makes me seem insignificant. Like I am just another kid talking about all of these little kid ideas that should have died off when I was 19, I’m 20 now goddamnit, grow-up, be a (wo)man. At the sametime, today when I was telling Matt about my fears of never finding someone… he reminded me that we are only 20, that we really are just kids. It’s true, like Anais Nin says, “”We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.” I feel like this quote is something that anyone can relate to. It reminds me that I am not alone in the growing process. That just because I am a certain age, it doesn’t mean I need to be doing a certain thing because that’s what I have been raised to believe; that growing-up is all about becoming more of who you are. That in some ways you can still be a kid and still be an adult at the same time. How am I still a kid?:  My optimistic perspective on people/life; I believe that by picking up heads up pennys I have better luck; I am worried that breaking the mirror while moving will bring me seven years of bad luck; I believe that I will fall in love and live happily ever after; I believe that I will find the job of my dreams. I’m so corny, I think that it something I can add to the list. Or that’s not something you grow out of huh? I don’t think people like corny people.
I am afraid that I ask too many questions about everything, to everyone. I am afraid that I am too random, that it makes me seem insincere. I am afraid that I won’t pay off the high debts that I have. And that even though I’ll save money living in the suburbs of RI, that the slow pace of things will make me wish otherwise. I am afraid of being judged for who I am, both physically and internally… but even though that scares me, I will not compromise who I am for anyone. That’s something that I really admire about my friend Matt, he never compromises himself for anyone.
The thing is though, even though that I am afraid of all of these things. I am not afraid to take a chance. I am not afraid to make myself seem ridiculous or silly, because that’s just as much a part of me as my brown eyes or my curly hair.
I think I got off track somewhere around here, but hey, it’s a blog… it doesn’t have to make sense.
 
To the movies.
 
Quote:
“Haven’t you figured out yet that you are the only one who can do what you do, the way you do it? Don’t you realize that the world is waiting for you?”  -Iyanla Vanzant