Changing Facebook

Q: And What are your religious views?

A: Religious views? Ha, do you have enough time? I suppose my answer is…that…I don’t have answer. 

Q: you think you’re smart don’t you?

A: Generally speaking, yes. Maybe you’re just mad that I didn’t give you a canned answer- a quick response. Shouting from the rooftops with all assuredness that I have the answer the world is looking for…. I can tell you’re not amused. Well, I’m not a Christian. I know that.

Q: Well then what are you?

A: What am I? A Human? A person without a clue? Why do I have to prescribe to some set of beliefs? Sure, I know people who claim to not be Christian anymore. They feel like they don’t deserve the title. Like they aren’t good enough because they don’t actively participate. See, I’m not a Christian because, well, I’m not. It’s about identity [coughs]. Let me tell you something. I was a vegetarian for three years. One day I just decided that meat might not be that bad and I started eating chicken, then pork, and lastly beef. Now, that was two years ago and for a while I still called myself a vegetarian but I wasn’t. That’s the key [pause]. It was one of the identities I gave myself. It was one of the boxes I felt I fit into. Religion is just another box.

Q: Religion is a box?

 A: YES! It’s all a box. Democrat, Republican, Christian, Atheist, Aggie, Longhorn, Right, Wrong. What does it matter? I write; does that make me a writer? It’s all a box. Life is a box! Life is the ultimate box because it confines our every action. People see the face of God when they look at people; I just see dignity. The atheists I know are the most moral people you’ll ever meet. You wanna know why? Because they don’t live for anything other than what each person knows is right or wrong. When you are looking to yourself to see the answer, then the answer is much more beautiful than anything I could read out of some book…I mean…

 Q: Excuse me. I would actually just like to go ahead and get your answer so we can move on.

 A: oh…right, of course.

 Q: What are your religious views?

A: Can I check “other”?

KILL ALL OPTIMISTS

Every short intake surely precedes while in turn succeeding its equal return. The air flows in and out again...Again; I am found breathing without even realizing. It’s been four years of continuous continuing, a fact that is nothing close to living. My best friend is an objectivist and he explains that objectivists believe that there is no perception: there is an ultimate answer to every question. I want to understand his simplistic stylings but I am left looking at life like a modern art painting- always seeing something different with each glance. My own personal mosaic of moments has added up to twenty-two years of life and still has yet to make a rhyming sequence of scheme. Like the bride on her wedding day, I am struck by the realization that I never planned for the after- the aftermath of growing up. Graduate. Get a job. Get Married. Have Kids. I am twenty-two and have nothing to look forward to but a fifty year march to the grave; the day when the breathing stops and my body finally catches up to my brain.

I’ll stop before you begin to think this will end in suicide. It won’t. I can say no to life but I can’t say yes to that…that dirty word that creeps up behind us until we are so disgusted with the everyday that we turn and find it staring us straight in the face. Shocking us with its unearthly grin, we forget the careful tedium of balancing the positives and negatives of one more day of living. I am the heart patient on table feeling the shocks of electricity race through me once again. Yes!! Today I will love living!! Yet the heart knows its own security and falls back into the slow pattern I have crafted these past years.

I’ll do you one better, you believe I need the Lord. Glory Hallelujah, May Christ be praised!!! The religious always believe that their faith will save you from despair, make you believe in living again yet they fail to see the great irony. Christianity is a religion obsessed with death. You talk of our Heavenly Reward and the Judgment of the Wicked. When will these things occur? Today? On this earth? No. They are tasks assigned solely to the creator who we might get the chance to meet after we are dead (if we do everything right first). Have you ever played a game with all rules and no result? If I were a Christian, I would want to die everyday just so I could see if I guessed it right. In this light, martyrdom is not such a sacrifice after all. Surely this is a waste, just as my friend fails to understand. We are standing in front of that great painting and the religious man is shouting that the painting is so obviously a dog…. Really? Cause I just saw life pissing on a fire hydrant.

I am breathing again but this time there is something I must explain. It’s called perception. Every hurt, each affliction, is filtered through it and it is that which measures our level of tolerance and pain. You call me a pessimist. I call myself a realist. Either way, I say we kill all the optimists. Ah, finally a smile from your lips and I know my rant as found its mark. Tonight I will wrap my arms around this grown up life and remember what it felt like to have that swift bolt of electricity race through me once more. Today I say Yes.

An Autobiography of Sorts

She preferred to tell people that she was named after a George O’Sullivan song. It seemed like a much more interesting tale then the truth of her life, her namesake being a distant relative who had been a hero in the Second World War. No, she simply did not find this truth to be convenient enough for her personality: a free-flowing spirit much more attuned to a generation of love then one of hate. The spelling always presented an issue to her contemporaries as well and she had since devised a perfectly good explanation. Her name was the Irish spelling thank-you-very-much and not as she had been unfortunately told years later by her mother, a simple result of convenience and style. Her name was Clare- a source of pride and anguish for her soul and the focal point of her very existence in this world.
She was an odd girl of sorts with unbridled curls and a quick smile that had bewitched many a stranger. She might have won over the hearts of a millions if she had not been a little too introspective and calculating at times, the result of a brain that worked endlessly behind resilient green eyes. Clare; the name fit her like no other ever could and she was not of the persuasion of girls who fancied what their names could have been if only their parents had had an ounce of originality. Clare: it was simple yet unconventional, concise yet mysterious.
She spent her days away with the two great loves of her life: books and poetry. She could read books end to end, an odd quality that spoke more to her slightly obsessive nature then her lack of social life. To her, books provided the perfect social mechanisms: a world of ready made friends that would last with her as long as she might desire. The pure perfection was met by an equally concise conclusion: the sad endings to her friendships. Each time she would bemoan silently as she carefully read the last page of a particular novel and felt the onset of the melancholy loss envelop her being. It would be simple to begin another sordid affair with a new protagonist but she endured this sadness stoically as though it were her lot in life to bear. To have the joy one must accept the pain.
Though you might be beginning to think that our heroine was a bookworm of sorts, this was simply not the case. She lived fiercely. Her life had been the inspiration of a near-death experience that did not come close to killing her but had left its mark like a brand on her chest. Existing was not an option for Clare and though her obsessive love for the literary was ever present, you could find her indulging in her passions in the various countries of the world. She had read Hemingway in Spain and Rand in England. She had written verses whilst perched on a seat in the middle of Oslo and once by the light of a torch on a train ride to Milan. She rarely wrote of her near-death experience that did not come close to killing her yet it was a constant theme in her work. An homage of sorts that she hoped would one day be sorted by some brilliant mind at Harvard or Cambridge many years after her death. She believed it to be a tragedy and sometimes a comedy though certainly on the darker side if any at all and if it were to be a tragedy then it would be the best kind: the tragedy of a life well lived. This was her story and though she had never once considered writing an autobiography she could not think of a more clever mind to begin the tale. Yes, a tragedy and the beginning of a tragedy is always the most important line of all. How hers would begin remained a mystery yet not a hopeless one because she had believed since she was a little girl that the best answer, the truest art, is never created but discovered. So how would it begin?
“The girl who lived.” Eh, too Rowlings and entirely too contemporary.
‘The worst of times…” Respectable but recognizable.
“a ruin so strange it must have never happened.” Poetic and her absolute favorite but Kingsolver was far too honorary for her to plagiarize.
She could set her mind to discover this simple line if she could find a moment to think. It was hard to sum up ones life and package it in such a way to make it both appealing and compelling. The line was almost there, she could feel it in the marrow of her bones.
Voila!
“She preferred to tell people that she was named after a George O’Sullivan song.”

You Asked for a Love Song but I Chose a Breakup Instead

You almost made it this time love
Almost made it through
What made you say?
Say maybe
Maybe it’s tomorrow maybe it never
Was
It was almost May
Not everything fact is true
True to the fact of you
You
Say
Maybe
May I be the last to hear you say:
Maybe
Say
You
What made you say?
Almost made it through
You almost made it this time love
Almost made it through

She chose to kill love on New Year's day.

She had felt the love leaving her slowly, as through a mortal wound, therefore this choice was merely a formality. The clock had struck twelve and a chord within. She glanced up from the melée, found the hands standing perfectly in time, and noted her decision with simple acceptance. It was like a death passing in the night- a thing unnoticed. She chose to kill love so that it would stop killing her. New Year's was simply the day upon which it occured, for she did not believe in resolutions, like man could change the turns of destiny through the difference in one second. She peered down at her hands, inspecting the wrists, uncertain that the feeling of suicide inside did not have an outward effect. She would live another year alone because it was better this way.
It was better to be destroyed by one's own hands.

So.......

I'm working on a new chapter but I've committed to writing on this blog at least every other day- which I haven't decided is good or bad for my writing- but, either way, I'm going to write something now, because, well, it's that time again kidos.

*that has to be one of the longest sentences ever recorded by man....in fact, I'm sure it is.

Stuff I've been thinking about lately ( because I'm sure you want to know )

1. Whether I should stay in Europe forever or come back and go to Law School. Though, Pat thinks I should stay in europe, and since I sometimes confuse his with the voice of God, I'm leaning that way.

2. I've been working out ALOT lately...that and studying my LSAT material. In fact, it reminds me of the days when I focused on school and health because I was ambitious and driven; instead of now when I just live in a REALLY boring town.

3. I Feel Fine by the Riddlin Kids has been on repeat in my car. I'm not sure why exactly but I think it has something to do with a previous conversatin where I said "I'm fine being single" and he responded "No, you're not."
Who says that?!?!

4. I took pictures of my car to put up on the internet and since have been looking at them whilst at work. I think, "Damn that's a nice car". But that is how much I love Europe, I'm willing to sell it...Maybe God will see my anguish and give me both?!?! Please Pretty Please.

5. If you're still reading this you eithr think I'm EXTREMELY neurotic or that it is really really boring to work at a law office. It's usually the former but today a bit of the latter.

Damn Lucky


Here’s the problem. I’ve got to be blown away. I mean, AMAZED. Then again, I have to be adored. The two don’t seem to mix. I mean, if I am truly amazed by a guy then what is the likelihood he will feel the same way about me? Whereas, if I am not amazed by the guy but he is amazed by me we will continue to play a charade where I keep going on date after date hoping that at some point I am amazed by him all the while knowing that even if I were to get into a relationship with this person I would not be happy because I would be constantly thinking about how they just do not blow me away.
Got it?
So maybe this is why I’ve been so utterly single for the past sixteen months unless you count the blip that was Kip, but I don’t (unless he does) -which I’m sure he doesn’t. So I am back to the beginning. I’ve got a bit of a problem and my friends are tired of hearing about it. One of my friends says I’m way too picky and I need to lower my standards and give someone a fucking chance.
“For Christsakes Clare, give him a fucking chance!”
And then my other friend, well she listens quite quietly and then responds “Well Clare you see it’s not really that big of a deal. It doesn’t really matter at all. Next week someone new will ask you out and you will replace this heartbreak with a new one. Don’t you see that you never have to be upset because there’s always a replacement? Well, at least for girls like you.”
You would think I didn’t have a heart. I can steal feel…whether it be for one or twenty.
(Whoa that sounds messed up)
Then my ex says “You’re damn lucky you’re pretty. You as annoying as hell and no one would put up with that sarcasm of yours if you weren’t so damn pretty.” And I think, shit he’s right. I am severely messed up and every day and date that goes by proves the point even further. I want to think it wasn’t always this way. Once, when asked how old I was the last time I was single, I responded…”I don’t know…12”. Yeah, it happened.
But through a dramatic course of events that involved one birthday, a chocolate pie, a Myspace page, and an extremely pissed-off Clare, I decided to take a break. I hung up my dancing shoes. I didn’t go on a single date for three months. Then there was New Years, some garbage-can punch, and one serious conversation in the bathroom. Again, I was left smarting.
Well, I made that birthday call again this year but left out the chocolate pie. As I sat down the phone, I looked at my best-friend (the one with the boyfriend) and we both said “What a difference a year makes”.
The point is that, I am still single and I’m OK. I’m moving to France in two months for a year abroad until I start law school. Honestly, I’m in love with my life right now. Do I wish there was someone to share it with? Sometimes, but more often than not, I am content.
At the end of the day, I’m still friends with all my exes (minus one), my friends ask for my advice on their relationships (so I must not be too messed-up), and my guy friends do wonderful things like tell me I’m the epitome of amazingness (I heart Pat).
You know, being the single friend isn’t so bad after all.

Calm in the Waves


There was a girl that lived next to the sea. She would watch the world float by her little life, considering the occasional waves that were able to change her perception of time. She would sit, watching the passing boats. With a raised hand, she steadied the horizon that lay before her. ‘All that I look past and all that I can see can be steadied by the width of my hand’. The little girl grew up to be a woman. As a woman she no longer lived by the sea, her horizon was filled with skyscrapers and speeding cars. She would gaze out the window, steady her hand and make the city still. She wanted to believe that there could be no effect that was bigger than the cause. With small decisions and smaller steps there could never be a leap.
She loved a man once. His ways were cold and calculating. She accepted his conclusions to a fault. Her love for him was like a breeze. She felt the effects on her body, the cold caress on her cheek, but it had no beginning and no end. Her love for him had always been but it was a passing breeze. It had a way that moved through her in search of its final destination. She was not the end to his means.
‘Each day is a blessing’. And she raised her hand again. Steady and calm but there was no ocean to be seen. She closed her eyes to a river that crashed through her. The water pulled her to a final destination and he became a rock, strong and solid but simply a minor block to her ultimate end. She would gaze at him and see something that was nothing. ‘You are almost enough’.
There was a woman that moved to the sea. She would gaze at the world that no longer floated by her. She had become an actor in her own play, a master of the river inside. Through the rushing and the failing, she felt no need to steady her hand. ‘There is calm in the waves’.

I would never again....the ending

She slept soundly next to me and I knew that her sleep was far easier than the questions that would occur upon her waking. I stared blankly out the window, watching the passing hills that had come to define my broken heart. I was leaving again and I wanted to scream. I wanted to say..
Fuck Leaving
Fuck Goodbyes
Anger is easier than sadness. She moved next to me, shifting to an unknown dream. I couldn't begin to explain what her presence meant to me. It had been a last minute revelation, that she would be travelling with me to the airport. I had been moved beyond words, never knowing this intimacy before. I had known love before with my family, strangers thrown together and commanded to love another. I had had lovers before, strangers who sleep together and therefore are commanded to love one another. This love was different. There was no give and take, just a state of being. A presence that did not require words. With no requests, all I could do was give.
Fuck Leaving
The train came to a slow stop and I softly bumped her shoulder. She awoke and I motioned with my eyes that it was time to go. It was I who led the way to the airport, having been through this station too many times. I had resolved to remain strong, the silence of our friendship helped. After we had found my flight and checked in my bags we went to eat breakfast. She had chosen a Burger King breakfast meal while I had bought a muffin and an extra water for her. She smiled gratefully and we settled back into our silence. It was these exchanges that others didn't understand. We would exchange small favors for each other without a word about paybacks or who had spent more on whom. I knew we both wanted to say something meaningful, but instead we discussed each others' schedules for the next week. I had wanted so much more for this moment, to have said or felt something that could be remembered forever. Instead I was left gazing at the airplanes coming in. Slowly, we began to watch the people around us, lives intermingling through a mixture of hellos and goodbyes.
Fuck Goodbyes
I knew it was getting late but we lingered longer at the table. I suppose we both believed that if we never moved towards the security gate I would never leave and this amazing experience would last forever. I was facing leaving a country where I had made my home for the past 9 months and yet...I could only sit there. Slowly we stood up and made our way to the gate. As we were walking, her eyes began to fill with tears. I was jealous over her ability to express all the emotions that were left alone in me. She reached into her bag and handed me a letter. I protested at first, embarassed that I had not thought of a similar token but she insisted that it was nothing. I took her gift and walked away. Once inside the safety of the airport lounge I opened her letter. She had copied down lyrics to our favorite songs and wrote about a friendship that would last forever.
I cried.
As my tears fell over my smile I knew; these were not the ones I had been waiting for. All the sadness I had been trying to express was lost in my overwhelming pride for our friendship. I looked up at the people around me, unconcerned about whether they had seen my reaction to her words. I wanted them to see that I had been given something that most people would never know, a true friendship. I wanted them to know that I would never again have to say goodbye.

She slept soundly next to me and I knew that her sleep was far easier than the questions that would occur upon her waking. I stared blankly out the window, watching the passing hills that had come to define my broken heart. I was leaving again and I wanted to scream. I wanted to say..
Fuck Leaving
Fuck Goodbyes
Anger is easier than sadness. She moved next to me, shifting to an unknown dream. I couldn't begin to explain what her presence meant to me. It had been a last minute revelation, that she would be travelling with me to the airport. I had been moved beyond words, never knowing this intimacy before. I had known love before with my family, strangers thrown together and commanded to love another. I had had lovers before, strangers who sleep together and therefore are commanded to love one another. This love was different. There was no give and take, just a state of being. A presence that did not require words. With no requests, all I could do was give.
Fuck Leaving
The train came to a slow stop and I softly bumped her shoulder. She awoke and I motioned with my eyes that it was time to go. It was I who led the way to the airport, having been through this station too many times. I had resolved to remain strong, the silence of our friendship helped. After we had found my flight and checked in my bags we went to eat breakfast. She had chosen a Burger King breakfast meal while I had bought a muffin and an extra water for her. She smiled gratefully and we settled back into our silence. It was these exchanges that others didn't understand. We would exchange small favors for each other without a word about paybacks or who had spent more on whom.............to be continued

“Liverpool Airport does not make announcements, please check your flight number and gate number”

The intercom buzzed with its announcement that the airport does not make announcements. I had always found this humorous but today it merely irritated me. I had been half-asleep in a plastic lounge chair, trying to forget all that I was leaving. I was only going home to Texas for Easter Break but this trip felt like practice for when I would really be leaving England. The thought left me feeling empty. It hurt even more that no one back home could understand. All my friends had been awaiting my arrival back home but for me it was no happy reunion. I looked around me at the empty airport. I had been forced to spend the night here because of my early morning plane. Airports are the loneliest places in the world and I had been through enough of them this past year to leave a permanent scar. There had been those friends and family who had tried to convince me not to leave and I found myself angry at them as I sat alone in this existence of my own making. Didn’t they understand how hard it was to constantly be leaving? The toll these airports had taken on my spirit couldn’t be measured and yet they were mad at me? I suppose that it’s the same either way. Leaving is as hard as being left. As a tear slid down my cheek I thought of those I would one day be leaving forever with the false promises of another tomorrow. I didn’t want to imagine how this would feel in June when I left Lancaster forever. Maybe I would be getting back to my ‘real life’ and I would be seeing all my friends and family that had missed me these past months. I couldn’t shake the feeling that even after I returned to them I would still have an empty space left by this past year.

I looked up at the computer screen to find my flight was boarding. Realizing that this would be like any relationship that you know must end, I walked away. I walked away from the thoughts that I knew would return in a few months. I walked away because staying would have been a pain I could not bear.

I am dead.
I've jumped from the railing above the underpass. Have you ever wondered if our bodies really do make that splat sound you hear in the cartoons? Well we do, it is the sound of our soul leaving our bodies, either that or our bodies colliding with the pavement...
Cough
I am awoken from my day dream of death. I have been sitting in the University library longer than I would like to admit. Staring out the window watching passerbys and hoping that one of them will have the guts to do it, to jump. I look up at the ceiling, a basic white with modernistic carvings of squares. I wonder which architect thought it was a good idea to make an university library, boring and average in every way, have a modern art ceiling. Was he trying to infuse a bit of interest into his otherwise dull creation?
Another cough
Great right before I die from absolute boredom I am going to catch Avian Flu. Of course I could always just jump...
and this is why I pay to go to University.