it's good to be back...wherever I am

Today I realized something very important.

No matter where you are, you should keep with you people or things which you care about. Otherwise there will be nothing to get you through your mundane, scheduled life and you will want to nap all day and all night and never respond to letters from your pen pal or brush your hair or even ask the custodian who works in your dorm building how his day has been.

That's all.

Also, I think awards shows are silly. But I'm glad that "The Lost Thing" won the award for Best Short Film. It was beautiful.Here is the trailer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kikA9pUAnWs

correction.

Hello.

No one is reading this.

I don't care.

Things have changed significantly.

Something noteworthy:

Anyone who knows me well knows that I love words. I love the dictionary. I love the way it feels to remember a new word and to teach it to someone. I take pride in my self named ever-growing vocabulary. So it is with the kind of embarrassment that shows in my cheeks that I return to this blog and read the last post, the one I wrote before heading to Israel. My apologies to the world and to myself: sometimes I am an idiot and assume the meaning of a word without checking with my dearest friend The Dictionary. 

Zionism: n. an international movement originally for the establishment of a Jewish national or religious community in Palestine and later for the support of modern Israel

Let me say that again: I am an idiot. An idiot who supports the Zionistic cause. An idiot who is therefore a Zionist herself.  Six months ago I assumed the meaning of the words "zionism" and "zionist" by the way they were thrown around on the news, and used by sources who I would later realize were against such an idea. I thought Zionism had something to do with supporting Israel in its campaign in Gaza. I thought Zionism was violence, was physical hatred carried out by Jews wherever and whenever but mostly in Israel and mostly now. Once more: I am an idiot.

It took four months spent in Israel and an unknown number of religious youth programs and events attended during my 16 years to learn the meaning of the word Zionism. To understand that I myself am a Zionist. Don't disregard that old post if only to realize what the willingly uneducated Jewish teen can learn from what is considered the unbiased media. 

My apologies to Zionists everywhere. (or even just the two that have ever read this blog).

I believe in the right to a Jewish homeland in the geographical region which some refer to as Palestine, and others as Israel. I strongly support Zionism on paper and in practice. I hope to physically defend our right to the land in the future as a member of the IDF.

I am a Zionist.

Annoying:

Things around here have finally begun to settle down, I have finally found someplace where I am comfortable, and soon I will be leaving. It always seemed so strange to me, that I can know what I want one moment and be totally surprised by my decision the next. I am no Zionist. I do not have an ardent desire to live in Israel because a scroll I was read at an early age says that a higher being granted the land to my ancestors and the children whom they would bear. I am no Zionist. I will not shed blood for a land I have not walked upon. I am no Zionist. I am not going because I was told to. I am going to feel connected. To know that the people I pride myself as coming from really existed; to prove to myself that the lifestyle I want to adopt is worth the struggle I may be faced with. To know that the prayers, the psalms-all of the words I've been reciting weekly since i could read-all of them have a history. To understand their meaning. To know that I haven't been spewing hatred since I was six. I am going there to learn. I am going there to gain an understanding of a tradition I truly know little about. To see another part of the world-to open my eyes just a bit wider, stretch my capacity for knowledge, for understanding. I am going to see the sky-to know that the sun continues to rise in a place torn by violence and rocket attacks. To negate the myth that there are "bad guys" in a holy war. 

I am no Zionist-I am not pretending to be.

I am thinking myself in circles, speaking only in tongues.

Today I need a translator of sorts, to decipher the broken words falling from your lips.

My eyes cannot seal the cracks between letters and though I make fists and flex my arms, the symbols slip through my fingers like water, like snow.

Like everything I've ever dropped and broken while drying the dishes

and each tear I cried upon noticing the sharp, lifeless glass splinters scattered by my toes.

You are..

a temptress,

a sorceress.

and, if given the time,

you could convince flowers to reject sunlight,

the stock market to crash, 

and him to take me back.

unfortunately,

life is short, and talk's getting pricey.

i spend days saving up for just one of your codes,

hoping to spend the rest understanding them.

hoping that you are right.

i'm back, not quite better than ever

These days, things just keep getting stranger. The weather changes and once again, on the edge of the darkest coldest season, something happens that makes my blood freeze. Something that stops me in my tracks, that renders me incapable of compassion.

This year, it is a party that ruins my faith in humanity. It is the type of party from the movies. The scene: loud music, big house, 20 some-odd teenagers and enough alcohol to fuel all present. Enter Susan, wide-eyed and naive, expecting nothing more than ten kids hopped up on sugar, playing video games. Cue clubbing music. Cue drunken, disgusting party guests. Enter Ex Boyfriend. Let's call him: indiecock.

Indiecock (holding cup of rum and coke): Hey baby!

(staggers toward susan. hugs her, spills most of cup across his very indie, very vintage, very gay flannel buttondown.)

susan: (flatly) hi. 

(indiecock hugs susan. she shrugs him off. this continues for a few minutes until indiecock saunters off to the beat of the music playing in the background)

replay this two times with two other ex boyfriends. let's call them guitarprodigyfucktard and youarenotattractivejustveryverydrunk.

guitar prodigy insists on asking if i'm ok, which is sweet. But after the sixth time, the sweetness has worn off. He begs a hug, i give in. He does not let go after one minute. I try to slip away--guitarprodigy is strong! 

will continue this later.

i am full of anger at the moment.

i want to tell him everything.
but somehow i always lose my nerve.
the thoughts don't correspond to words, and i am never able to pull the strings of sentences from my mouth into the air between us.
but i can write it down.

the letters constantly pulse through my fingertips as the ink touches paper.

foolproof way to get it all out.

today was the best in a while.
i'm starting to rock this whole school thing.
grades are looking up, so are other things.
we took a field trip to the tuck in spanish.
'twould have been perfectly lovely, if not for a minor incident.

no work tonight.
nothing happening tomorrow.
disney with the team this weekend (HOLY SHIT AM I EXCITED)

i began A Million Little Pieces this week.
i feel unholy and self righteous reading it.
i feel like it's feeding my opinions and i dont want that.
but i need to know how the story ends.
i can't get a hundred pages in and change my mind, not with this story.
this is important.
and i can't drop it, no matter how obnoxious it makes me look to read it.
i don't care how i look.
and i dont care what assumptions you make by me reading the story of a drug addict's stint in rehab.
i just want to know how it ends.

dylan ditched me on the phone a few days ago.
it felt normal.
i hate this.

today is so happy.
so fucking happy.

but i could use a nap.

i wish i didn't miss them so much.
i wish i could give us a label.
figure out what it is that we are now.
i wish we had something.
i wish i hated them.
it's a shame that i dont.