"But
you should not
be in the zoo.
No. You should NOT
be in the zoo.

With all the things
that you can do,
the circus
is the pace
for you!

Yes!
This is where
I want to be.
The circus is the place for me!"

This short book is simple yet is incredibly insightful for years to come. Put Me in the Zoo by Robert Lopshire is actually an early reader book. This is too long to be a quote yet to short to be a story. But this part means so much to me. It is basically telling you you may think you know what you want, yet in reality you belong where you are accepted. I don't think I am explaining this well but this honestly gave me chills when I reread it a few nights ago. I may just be emotional but this just gives me such a warm feeling in my heart. We can all relate to the spotted animal in this story one way or another. Having your dreams crushed can be devastating but once you truly find your place, you are set. Let go of your sadness and welcome the happiness with open arms.

"Your mom goes to college" - Kip (Napoleon Dynamite)

"Strength is being able to crush a tomato.
Dexterity is being able to dodge a tomato.
Constitution is being able to eat a bad tomato.
Intelligence is knowing a tomato is a fruit.
Wisdom is knowing not to put a tomato in a fruit salad.
Charisma is being able to sell a tomato based fruit salad." -Anonymous

"I wouldn't want you to starve while we eat our ham." -My Nana

Flying away from __________. What am I flying away from? 

I know I am not flying towards anything 

But then wouldn't that mean I am flying away from something?

I suppose not.

This realization makes me stop. 

I freeze in time.

I look around and I take in  what I have been missing.

I missed so much as I flew without a purpose.

If I am not to fly to or from anything, then what is my purpose?

Is my purpose to look for my purpose or is it to live without one?

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Death is a funny thing. Tonight is the first night in my entire 17 years that I have dealt with it. I sit here, crying, trying to understand it. But there is nothing to understand. This is the reality we must live. We must always say goodbye. I feel like my tears are invalid as it wasn't direct loved one. Yet... I loved him. I loved that dopey looking cat. His long vampire-like teeth to his nub of a tail. The black silky fur made his light green eyes pop. Soots. That's what his name was.

My friend, texted me in a panic. She had found him, lying in a puddle of his own piss. When she tried to clean him, he went limp, submerging himself in the water, taking it in as if he didn't care anymore. By the time I pulled into the drive way, it was too late. He had died in her arms. I have never truly seen anyone so physically broken until I ran in and my friend clutched the limp body to her, screaming, bawling for help. For the next thirty minutes we cried. I tried to be strong but the cat I had once been so amazed with staring at me with cold lifeless eyes. Once her mother burst into the house, she sat with us. Yet no words could seem to comfort my friend. I felt as though I had to be strong. For her sake and my own. As my phone lost charge, we frantically looked for any hospital who would take away our precious boy. Once we found the only open vet in Springfield, we got in the car. You would expect the ride to be quiet but no. We tried to ignore the truth by telling stories about something else, laughing, ignoring the dead feline in my best friends arms. When we finally found our way to the vet, we sat there for a long while, crying. Then we started telling more silly stories. Until it was time to give up Soots. We were quiet when he finally left. Once he was gone though, it seemed less real. Like we didn't have to face it anymore. The part that put me most at ease was probably the car ride home. We talked of some silly stories of our beloved Soots. The dopey vampire cat. After a few minutes of sitting in their driveway, I left. Driving home, I began to cry again. I could finally cry as I wanted to. I had to pull over, more than once because I couldn't see through the tears. I got home and laid with my dog and parents, sobbing. I have never mourned in my life so I felt as though my feelings were invalid.

After crying until I felt as though my head would explode, I came to bed. Which is where I am now. Writing this story. Crying. It still doesn't feel real, but I hope my mom is right. "This feeling will go away in time. It will just become your reality."

Cold winter night. I look around, standing in front of a large house, two cars in the driveway. At my side, Dude. (Dude is my french bulldog). It is quiet all around me. Until I hear the faint sound of bustling people inside the strange house in front of us. Dude and I approach the house. Cautious with every step. The door opening with a faint push of Dude's nose. We step inside warmth engulfing our chilled fingers. People walk all around us, to busy to notice us, yet we are not invisible. The two of us move about the house, looking at things, watching the "family". Watching as the get ready for something important. A family gathering perhaps? Dude heads up the stairs and I follow, not wanting to lose sight of my precious pup in this strange house. I find a girl, we are similar in age from what I can tell by her features. She sits in the bathroom, struggling to do her hair. When I offer assistance, she gladly accepts, handing over the curling iron. I watch as dude jumps on the toilet. He watches as I curl the girls hair. Once I finish, she hugs me with a thank you. We drag ourselves from the overly kind girl. I wake my way back down the stairs, we hear a shrill scream from what can only be assumed to be a little boy. Blood can be seen, a flooding puddle seeping into our sight. All we can see is the dead boys little hand, pale and lifeless. I panic, looking around, then I blink.  look around, standing in front of a large house, two cars in the driveway. At my side, Dude.*





*TO BE CONTINUED

Thoughts on the Artwork:
This piece reminds me that realism will be/is the death of me. However, it is actually an amazing piece. You can tell the person tossed and turned, dreaming a very lively dream. As if it was real.

Haiku:
Tossing and Turning
Sleeping every day away
Never waking up

    5. Talking is a strange thing. Maya Angelou stopped talking for five years. To this day, every time and get angry or mad, I go quite. In my house you can't speak your mind when you are angry. You get in more trouble than it is worth. So instead of getting out my frustrations I am forced to let the boil inside me until I can't hold anything in. I always seem to end up crying if I hold back my words. Sharing is a huge part of my personality, so when I try to hold back, I burst. Of course, after I let all the pent up feelings out with tears, I don't need words. I feel better knowing I got it out with or without words. One of my many faults is not listening. I try my best but there is always something I can say or add. It is never easy for me to hold back on my input, which along with most people, I find annoying. Holding back isn't one of my strongest points. If I could get past the initial literal biting my tongue, I think that I could observe the people and world so much better all around me. Yet on the other hand, I never end up talking when it truly important. If I spoke out more when it mattered, I would grow so much in courage and confidence. It's funny how choosing when to speak can either help you grow or hold you back.

    3. Talking about bad dreams "gives them too much power".  I think talking about the bad is human nature. Whether it be bad dreams, bad news, or drama, its humans first instinct to talk about it. I may be considered strange but I tend to enjoy my bad dreams. They take me to a place that I don't like to go but personally I think it is good to go there sometimes. At least the way I live my life, I don't like to think about the bad, only the good. So if and when I do have bad dreams, it is almost like a bitter treat. I am reminded and grounded by my own thoughts. Despite my personality, I think that most of my writing inspiration comes from these so called "bad" dreams. My writing reflects more on what grounds me than what I choose to live my life like. I have had many dreams that reveal my even truer self to me. Maybe that is why when I wake up, I choose express the happiness I want to feel instead of letting the bad take hold.

    8.  "There is a world of difference between truth and fact" -Maya Angelou. This one little sentence says it all. Fact is something that is true with out feeling. Truth however is a fact with feeling. Both need each other to exist yet, at the same time they have nothing to do with one another. In my own opinion, these two are not the same at all. They couldn't be any different. Feelings and emotions are such a big factor that it can completely change a point of view with the snap of a finger.