3:43 a.m.

I wrote a poem titled Prayer of an Insomniac but I fell asleep before I could finish writing it.

I haven't made contact with Lois Lane since last January and now I am beginning to regret that unconscious decision I made. If you know how to contact her--please--let me know.  I am desperate.

I used to be conscious of how much my ankles and wrists hurt. On a scale of one to please God, no it hurts, I measured how important it was for me to write about what I was feeling. The words were building up underneath my skin, building up around my ankles and my wrists. I swear that my skin was about to burst, but the pain would make me scream and I would scream out the words that had been bottled up inside. Exhale and release.

When I lost touch with Lane, my ankles and wrists, I moved to a place with late fall and winter days that were unbelievably frigid with sharp winds that would pierce your insides. I would walk home aware of my breath like a smoker is aware of each puff they exhale. I would purposely forget my gloves to feel my flesh turn into raw beef in a freezer, my skin into a porcelain doll that if dropped, would shatter into a million pieces. But the minute, no second I walk into the embrace of a warm atmosphere, my hands become the first sight of spring; the ground begins to thaw and I scream. Tears fall down my cheeks and I almost forget how to breathe. Inhale. I scream out the words that had been bottled up inside. Exhale and release.

I am home now, for a short time, and I don't know what to do with myself or how to even find my Self. I still don't know how to find Ms. Lois Lane. Maybe my Self and Ms. Lane are the same, but I don't know because the only people who would are my Self or Ms. Lane. I need someone or something to intervene and save me from all this conflict because the very thing that I love is killing me and I can't conquer it. I am beginning to lose sleep: one sheep, two sheep, three-- this is no use.

Reality has this way of separating the Past and Future and leaving you broken in Between. Straddling rooftops trying to decide which side will give you better balance. Excuse me for wanting my cake and for wanting the world both ways.

Dear God,
I am sure my body can live on no sleep, I've done it before.
But I am not exactly sure my soul can.
If my bones and my eyes simply cannot find rest, please
please at least let my soul find rest.

With the most sincere regards,
It is 3:43 a.m. and this is not the first night I can't sleep.

a list: life lately.

1. 1:30 am + top ramen dinner + opera music.
2. Hart of Dixie.
2a. Hart of Dixie is a TV series that consists of horrible acting and the best country tunes. For some reason I can't stop watching it.
2b. I managed to watch two seasons (44 episodes) + the seven episodes of the current season in two weeks. If you knew how time consuming that is you would find this sweet addiction of mine to be quite sickening. Don't worry, I find it sickening, too.
3. Coffee flavored ice cream. Or should I say all things the flavor of Coffee. Hmm, I will go with the latter.
4. Matt Wawro's Pink Capri Sunday + his horribly cute singing/dancing acts
4a. I couldn't help it. I just had to join him (Join everything except for the Pink Capri Sunday ... I don't actually own pink capris...).
5. In the words of Martina McBride, "Living on dreams and Spaghettios." Except might I take the liberty and change Spaghettios to Top Ramen. Because that is the true story.
6. Sharpie pens.
7. FaceTime + nothing to say.
8. Weekends in Utah.
9. paying 10.25 (plus tax) to see a movie.
10. writing letters in my mind to the people I miss + the people I meet.
11. Chick flicks galore.
11a. That wasn't a joke. I watch a lot of chick flicks. But that's something you already knew.
11b. I watch WAY more chick flicks now than when I did at home. Just throwing that out there...
12. Twinkle lights in every room except for the kitchen. Hallway included.
13. Top ramen. Oh, did I mention top ramen already? Oh, well let me just list it again for you.
14. Becca's cover playlist. I loathe covers with a fiery passion.
15. Boys bringing flowers. Neither of them for me.
16. iTunes Radio + Headphones = beautiful soundtrack for a long and FREEZING walk home.
17. Calling my apartment Home.
17a. That's a big deal because I refused to call it anything but My Apartment when I moved in.
18. Calling it a night at 3am every night.
19. Constant dreams about you.
19a. I miss you, ya know.

i tried to forget all about you.

funny thing is, it is your birthday and somehow in the middle of all of my forgetting, i managed to remember that it was your birthday.

i had a dream about you.

i was sitting in the foyer of the church after your farewell when you came and sat next to me. "i know that you have made it clear that you love me, but i need to tell you something," you said while opening up the notebook that was in your lap. you began to read what i discovered to be a four page speech. your handwriting was so neat and there were no scribbles or mistakes. i listened to you read those four pages and i realized that you were trying to subtly tell me that a part of you still loved me. i forced myself to cry and i realized

there wasn't even the smallest part of me that still loved you.

i am glad that i finally got over you.

even if it was on your birthday.

nine minutes earlier and we would've had the same birthday.

the way you make me feel.

I feel like writing something, but that something is always the same.
I want to write about you.

The tricky thing is, you and I are miles apart ( 746.6 miles to be exact) and it hurts to write about you. I can't tell when I write about you if the distance between us is closing or if it is taking me farther away from you. The closer I get to you, I almost feel like you are right here. Here discussing why the derivative of x-squared is 2x. The further I get from you, the more I long for those nights we spent at the dining room table, frying our minds in calculus oil. The look on your face was exhausting but it never looked cuter. Your looks always made me smile.

And here we go. I am writing about you again.
But this time I am smiling.

I love writing about you.

Boy, you knew how to make a minivan look attractive.

thoughts: my mind's playlist.

You know, some of my best days are when everything goes wrong. Weird? Maybe. Confusing? Most definitely. I think it is because the days when everything seems to go wrong, there are only a few moments where things are absolutely perfect, which makes those moments beautiful. They stand out, you know? Weird? Maybe. Confusing? Most definitely not. At least not to me. 

You know, when those bad days come to a close and you finally get to rest your head on your pillow, that's when you realize that everything is perfect, regardless of every negative thought that came into your mind. Inhale. Exhale. And then simply just laugh. You made it.

You made it, my friend. You made it through a challenging day and your heart is still pumping blood.

You are alive.

And that's enough to keep you going one more day.

'...because there are no strings attached,'

he said to the girl who attached herself to everything.

Little did he know, she was

missing home

missing family

missing friends

missing the mountains

missing her bed

missing everything she had attached herself to.

She needed something to attach herself to, something to remind her of everything she loved and left behind.

Instead of some witty remark, she just bowed her head and blushed.