Kryptonite

I've been feeling quite disillusioned over the last week or so. Maybe its the change in the weather (though San Antonio simply goes from Hot to Less Hot) or maybe its the crippling reality of finals but I feel myself waking up to the realization that I don't know myself at all. The last semester has changed a lot. The year before even more. My life keeps changing and I keep adapting but all the sudden I look at myself in the mirror and think, "Who are you?". 

I definitely feel older. Not just in the physical sense (yesterday I went running and the pain in my knees was horrible) but also mentally. The things that used to interest me don't. The food that I used to like, now inspires not even a second look. Someone asked me the other day what my hobbies are and I couldn't think of any. Yeah, I get it. I am in law school. My life consists of studying, sleeping, studying, eating, studying, listening, and studying. I have no hobbies except those which keep me sane (working out about 4 days a week and watching my weekly sitcoms spread out one night each).

I used to write (this doesn't really count because i have the distinct feeling my style is lacking).

I used to draw and paint (my painting was never that great but my pen and ink work was making strides)

I used to read the newspaper every morning over breakfast (now I don't read anything that doesn't come in textbook form)

Growing up it always seemed that we could retain those things that made us different if we simply tried enough but now I am starting to wonder. It's more than law school, this has been a shift that began slowly, imperceptibly, and now has made my life something I don't recognize. 

You think I'm so relaxed, nothing ever bothers me. Now, I realize it may just be apathy. I've been through some shit; some unexpected and a lot of my own making but I still lived it and all this....this is boring. This is simple. All of the possibilities laid before me make me feel

indestructible

Whatever happens, it is all livable. They're all swimming against the current as I sit on the shore. 

Invincible

Like Superman right before the kryptonite. 

Pieces (peace is) Broken Again

Black and white stress unnecessary words….words whose power lie in their being. An email again, fuck, why do we always have to be a world apart? Words stress and I’ve been here before. Cold sanitary rooms stretch unending. Hear the IV drip as nurses slip through quiet corridors. Who was here before…she….who? Here before, I lost myself somewhere along the way. A little piece….a little peace….it’s what you gave me then yet here we are again. I walk to quiet places and scream.

FUCK
YOU
ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!

God….God?

Goddamn

Black and white, did you have to do it again?

Ode to Third Period on Tuesdays

It's about a boy
but not the one you thought
a star which
could not be easily forgot
all the same
when we come to our end
flickering flame
fighting against life's wind

Twilight, Nighttime, and Dawn

"Have you lost your faith?"

"Lost implies I am searching."

"You used to breath life into me"

"Not all things are as they used to be"

Happy Thursday

Today is Valentine's Day. I am not a fan of the holiday personally. After the binge on commercialism and sappy hearts that is Christmas and New Year's, Valentine's Day seems forced and unnecessary. Do I really need a day to tell those whom I love that I do? This day also produces another reaction without fail. It always calls for reflection. Today, 14 February 2008, I am sitting in an airport in Liverpool waiting for the morning bus to Lancaster. My body aches from the cold floor that was my bed and my stomach longs for a hot meal yet I am happier this year than I have been in a long time. Things in my life seem to be heading in a direction that makes sense and I do have someone to keep today from being "Single Awareness Day". Maybe its the sleep deprivation, or the constant distraction from the smell of a full English Breakfast, but I can't think of any great revelations that this year brings, and though pride cometh before the fall, I am going to pat myself on the back anyways...and go buy some beans on toast!*


(beans on toast is part of the full English breakfast which comprises of eggs, bacon, tomatoes, beans, mushrooms and toast)

King of the World

When I was a child, there was a popular saying to bullies. When a kid stepped out of line and tried to boss someone else around we would say, "Who made you King of the world?” Yesterday I asked myself that. It was a Wednesday, innocently enough. Wednesday is the day that all the English Assistants have the day off so we usually plan on doing something as a group. I met up with two of my friends, Bob and Steve, and they suggested that we catch the new Tom Cruise film: Lions for Lambs. It sounded good enough and once I found out that it was to be shown in 'version originale', I was doubly excited. We purchased our tickets, a bag of M&Ms, and settled in to have a good time. About ten minutes in to the film, I started to sense something was wrong. The thought struck me: When did Tom Cruise start making propaganda? The film was 92 minutes of political bullshit. The same line that the Reps have been toying since the beginning of the war: give us a chance, it is ‘us’ against ‘them’, and the media are the ones losing the fight. I walked away with more than a stomach ache from the M&Ms.
I walked away ashamed.
I was sitting next to two Brits, in a room of French people and I just wanted to hide. As I watched the drama and rhetoric unfold, I felt like I was listening to an old story that I heard too many times before. The movie was meant to inspire Americans to be more patriotic and to serve our country.
It was meant to inspire.
I was inspired. I was inspired to start going to Peace rallies when I get home. I was inspired to convince my friends to actually register to vote so that their words would be heard. I was inspired to change something because our attitudes in the states just aren't cutting it. This week France has been crippled by transportation, student, and civil servant strikes. I find it utterly annoying and sometimes frivolous but at least they are fucking doing something. We sit back and don't give a shit about what is happening in our country. We are wealthy and blessed beyond imagine and we cannot even see it. We walk around patting ourselves on the shoulder while there is horrendous poverty and education next door. We say we are so proud to be American when we don't even understand what the word means.
So who made us King of the World?
We did
We did with our inflated ego trips and propaganda films.
We did with our righteous attitudes and God Bless America signs
We did with our bombing and occupation of foreign countries.

I love America but sometimes I really hate being American.

Love Letter to a Blog

It has been a long time since last we spoke but I am thinking of you, I want you to know. Before, words would flow out of me, their only hinderance the speed of my keystrokes. Now there is silence. I want to reach out to you again and tell you all about the life I have been living but my words are now lost. I am without a home or country but I feel firmly rooted in place. My longing for independence is gone as I find myself alone. What could I telll you about this alien land? It is cold here. My bed is empty and my heart is slowly following its lead. I want to be happy, and I have found joy, but my young soul is aging every day. No longer do I feel the sheer abandonment of youth but, rather, the cold practicality of wisdom. I want to be stupid and reckless but there are things I love greater than my selfish need.
I love the sense of accomplishment.
I love a well-rested body and a clear head.
I love the moments of silent reflection that last for hours.
I love knowing exactly what I want
I hate not having it
I have not written in a long time but I want you to know I am thinking of you. I need you to know there is something here that I cannot say but one day I will. I will tell you everything, just give me the time.

My Story is that I am Me

There has been a story brewing in my soul. Lines pass through me, ghosts of thought that cannot be adequately expressed or understood. Where does a story begin? Is a story created or merely found? Can we remain open to the universe of life, open for the fabled muse to enter in and guide our minds through the wandering storylines?

Where do you begin a story? I suppose where every story, every life, begins- I will tell you of the day of my birth. But that is not truly where it all began is it? There is a moment to which we can point and know that at this second we were created but there is a history to our creation. There is a story that began with my parents, and before that their parents, and before that and before that. It is the story we are born into.
Man's original sin in lyrical form.
What story was I born into? It is the story that has shaped my every thought and action. I am fully aware that at twenty-two years old I am far from my own person. I have tried to be. I have abstained from various vices of flesh and spirit to create an indepence that can assuredly be mine but I have failed. I am who I am. I am the product of generations of love, hate, knowledge, and dreams. I am a child of the sixties that was born in the eighties. I have lived many lives and died to each of them. I am twenty-two and the most invincible mortal being I know.

I am me and that is my story.

i want to write so much but it is hard to keep switching between french and english. i feel as though my english gets worse as my french gets better.

so i have developed a new language......... frenglish.... a mixture of french and english that is always in my head as i try to decipher between french and english constantly. if people tell you that they speak english everywhere then you should call them a liar.... preferably quite loudly whilst pointing your finger accusingly and holding something that is burning.

i tried to upload a picture but it didn't work.......darn free internet computer!!!!!

UPDATE:

I was worried that I wouldn't be able to handle this day when it finally came. Today, I will be taking my LSAT at 8am and then flying to Paris at 5pm. By tomorrow night, I will be settling into my new home for the next eight months. All of that to say that I am unsure when I will be able to blog again. Hopefully, I will have some new insight when I do get back. If it takes time, don't lose hope! Good things come to those who wait...

Thoughts on Dial-Up

I've been visiting my folks in the mountains of tennessee for the past week. They have internet but it is dial-up, thus quite slow. I forgot my iPod and Audacity to Hope seems a bit too much to read at times, so I am left alone to my thoughts a lot. I try not to let this happen too much, because if I do, I know I will begin to stress about either France or my LSAT. I also might think too much of my friends. This is where the hurt is now. For some reason, the pain of leaving seems far greater than it did two years ago when I boarded a plane for England. My number and depth of relationships has grown enormously and I can't help but be saddened at the thought of leaving all of these wonderful people behind.

There's the love that could have been
The friend who always listened
The one who always laughed
The pondering soul that drove me
together, they make up my past

There are days I wonder if I really will have the courage to make all of my dreams come true. I begin to think of the day when I will look around me and know that I have made it to the place I always dreamt I would be. I wonder what that day will look like.

I have effectively chosen Washington College and am waiting for them to choose me. This will mean that I will leave Texas behind. The thought sobers me greatly, because inside I know that I am only as content as the amount of love that surrounds me. In a way I am thankful that this is a choice I have made by myself; my eyes are the only ones I will have to hold accountable. Yet the truth is that I only walk away from the things I love. Somewhere in my young mind it started to make sense that if I walked away first then I could never be left. It's a pattern that follows me to this day.

People praise my traveling spirit but I tell them there is no other way I can be. I am bound by this restless soul that spurs me forward at the very whisper of ritual or normalcy. I see people content in their bubble and I envy beyond belief. I can only find joy in the small things when I know those things have a time limit, a forseeable end.

It's getting too late and too personal, but i'm breaking and it hurts. If there is one thing that drives my creativity it is the darkness that our souls fall into at times.

That Crazy Clare, She's Planning Again....


A lot has been going on lately. My father was in for a visit. He was supposed to be here for ten days but he had to leave early this morning beause my step-mom fell from the second story of their house in Tennessee. She shattered her ankle and hip and broke her shoulder. For those who do pray, I appreciate your concern.

I was thankful to be with my dad for the few days he was here. My brother came down this weekend so we could all hang out as a big happy family. We sat around on the lazy saturday afternoon and talked about politics and religion. Yeah, my family is like that. We're all philosophers in our own right and very much enjoy hearing the thought processes of one another.

It was also a healing weekend. My father and I have had our ups and downs over the years. Mostly starting with when I was born and he went through a mid-life crisis. He has been stepping up to the plate lately and I've been relying on him more and more. He even said he would take me to visit my dream school in D.C. when I'm visiting him later this month.

My dream school- I had heard of this school before but hadn't researched it fully until lately. Washington College of Law has a program where you spend the first two years in D.C. at the law school there and then spend two years at the University of Paris X-Nanterre. Upon graduation and passage of the bar, you will be certified to practice law in D.C. and the European Union (and possibly in Africa, Asia, and South America). Obviously, to me, the perfect program. But it is another commitment. I'm already looking at leaving and this will mean leaving again but for a much longer time. I've heard it all before- do it while you are young and unmarried. I am heading their advice obviously but I'm hoping that one day I will slow down because in the deepest part of me I do want a family and a sense of home. I've decided to apply Earl Decision (for anyone who doesn't know that means I have a better chance of getting in but, if I do, the decision is binding). I started working on my application's personal statement last night- pretty good if I don't say so myself.

Also, I got my visa and plane ticket, which means all my paperwork is done!

So that's the update. Other than that, I'm doing great. For those who know me- you know I'm happiest when I have my five-year plan ironed out.

An Honest Book

I want to apologize to the Blog community for letting things get a little personal on here. I should have considered the consequences of participating in a 'Blog fight'. As I sat at dinner with my friend last night and related the story to her, I realized how ridiculous this all is. Writing a long diatribe to accuse me of wrongdoings is ridiculous and responding to it with folksy wisdom is even more foolish...

Hopefully I can stand in front of my friends as I am, without worrying about the misconceptions that come from the written word. It’s hard to remember that these Blogs are more than spoken words said in the heat of the moment; they are testaments to our feelings and thoughts that are open for everyone to analyze. Maintaining your dignity in the online community is just as important as and sometimes harder than in the real world. In our face-to-face conversations and interactions we are granted a certain level of leniency. I feel this is missing here.

So, again, I apologize.



Editor’s note: I used the title Self-Defense because of the experience I have had in the courtroom. Many people waive their right to an attorney when they believe they have nothing to hide- this is how I feel. I am and always have been an open book, maybe a little hard to read at times, but honest none the less.

Self- Defense

When I was living in Lancaster, I dated a young British man named Richard (yeah I’m going to talk about an ex). After a couple of weeks he decided that he didn’t want to date me anymore. I listened to him calmly as we sat together on my dorm room bed. I cannot remember his argument exactly but it centered somewhere around the fact that I was leaving to go back home in a couple of months. After he had stated his case, I told him that I thought he was right and that we should break-up. He sat there confused. He had expected a protest, I assume, and my acquiescence had startled him into thinking that I didn’t really want to date him at all. You see- as I calmly stated to him- that was not the case. I believe that if there is a point where you think that you should break up with, or no longer date, a person and if you believe in this reason strongly enough to tell them about it, then you should, most definitely, end the relationship. Because, if there can be a doubt in your mind strong enough to start the dialogue of a breakup then it will assuredly lead to one whether immediately or many years down the road. My statements had the strange effect of changing his mind and making him realize that he didn’t want to break up with me at all.

Three weeks later we broke up.

The point is this- sometimes we don’t take our own advice. There have been many times when I have decided that I shouldn’t be dating someone for a particular reason but I continue because they (or me) talked me back into it.

Reasons don’t just go away.

They also don’t just appear and acting like they did is only lying to yourself.


*As I slept on my brother’s couch Saturday night, I thought of this story. Birthdays usually don’t have a mental effect, but, somehow, at 22 I can say, ‘things are changing’.

Sometimes I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear
And I can’t help but ask myself how much I'll let the fear take the wheel and steer
It's driven me before, it seems to have a vague, haunting mass appeal
Lately, I'm beginning to find that I should be the one behind the wheel
Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there with open arms and open eyes…
It's driven me before, it seems to be the way that everyone else get around
Lately, I'm beginning to find that when I drive myself, my light is found

You are My Favorite

Inspired by:
Padraig’s My Girl-

On those days that I admit to myself that I want a guy, I began to wonder what shape that fabled man might take. What color would his perfectly tinted eyes be? What shade of hair would I find between my fingers? What would we talk about as we laid on the couch on a lazy Sunday afternoon? I would want him to be a writer, or at least some type of artist, because, as my father once told me, only one artist can understand another. I’m mostly over the physical characteristics, though a dark brunette can still make me stop and stare. He would be successful, or at least driven, because there is still that part of me that can’t stand mediocrity. We would have a weekly date of wine and conversation. I would catch him watching me as I made cookies, with a tender look in his eyes and I would know that he loved me more than he could have ever imagined. He would let me put my feet on his while I am sleeping because they get cold at night. He would understand that sometimes I have to run away to know what I am coming back to; that there is a part of me that is restless and it has nothing to do with him at all. I would call him by a nickname that his mother had used for him as a child and he wouldn’t mind at all. If I told him that I loved him more he would respond “I know” and I would act hurt so that he would kiss me on the forehead. We would drive out to the country so we could sit on the hood of his car and listen to the lyrics of songs while we counted the stars. If we got lost, we would remember all the details and relate them in funny voices to friends who weren’t there. And every night, before we fell asleep, we would push the hair back from my eyes and say, “you are my favorite.”

In regards to France:

I feel as though I’m running full speed towards the edge, waiting for the moment when I sprout wings.

In regards to Home:

Like an outfit that doesn’t quite fit and isn’t your color, I feel out of place and, at times, blaringly so.

In regards to Love:

I don’t want another goodbye. I don’t know how to be genuine without being cliché and I don’t know how to hope without being naïve.

In regards to Family:

God, I miss them already. England showed me what I’ve got and now I’m realizing what exactly it is that I am leaving behind.

In regards to Friends:

I couldn’t be happier. I am closer to more people than I have been in my entire life and I love it.

In regards to Life:

My friend Keil said it best this weekend: “Things are amazing right now. In fact, they are so amazing it is making me nervous. I have never felt so good and I can’t help but wait to be brought back down to reality.”

I don’t have time to wait for the other shoe to drop. I am jumping in to the life I’ve been waiting for 21 years to live. I am happy and I am content, but most importantly- I have peace. I feel as though I'm traveling down the road of life; I don't have all the directions but I know I'm traveling in the right direction.

Mommy and Me

We are the same person separated by 41 years. Our physical similarities are obvious; we share the same blond hair and speckle-green eyes, but it is our personalities that are most similar. My mother is an adventurer- in every since of the word. She doesn’t find her happiness in routine or stability. She loves fiercely and gives dutifully. She approaches people unafraid; as though she has never known hurt before, but when you speak with her you quickly realize she has lived a long life of ups and downs.
In truth, I can only hope we are the same person separated by a 41 years.
When I first told her I was thinking of moving to France to work after I graduated she responded, “of course”. This weekend when I timidly told her that I was thinking that I wanted to stay overseas for longer than a year she responded, “I was wondering when you were going to tell me.” She knows and understands me so well that it amazes me at times. She is smart and quick, always looking for more information to learn and expand her horizons. She understands it all but there is one point where we stand at opposite ends of a chasm- religion.
My mother is a missionary. I know; I can’t believe it at times either. She travels to India and Haiti to work with orphans. That’s right- ORPHANS.
Mother Theresa is my mother and sometimes I don’t know what to do about it. I want so badly to talk to her about my own struggles with the church. I want to tell her that I’m trying; oh I’m trying, to understand how the Sunday-school stories and the newspaper speak of the same planet. That I’m trying to understand how “God told me” is a valid answer to any question when this is the same woman that never believed in using the phrase ‘Because I told you so”. She raised me to question and to pursue everything yet when it comes to Christianity she becomes docile and submissive. I want to understand why my mother has cried over her inability to speak in tongues. Why she has been made to feel less-than because she is unmarried and, well, a little weird. I want to love her and believe her with everything but my skepticism begins to creep in and I suddenly need more than a calm pat on the hand. I need more than her clear green eyes closed in prayer, but I’m going to keep trying because I want to believe again. I want to say “God told me”, just so I can have one ounce of assurance in my life. I want to lie in peace, enveloped in a love that is strong enough to break this wild horse.
I want to be the same person separated by 41 years.



*for clarification- My mother was 41 years old when I was born. She has led a very interesting life as a war activist/ labor union president/ free-loving hippie. She is finally doing what my friends have told me to do for years- she’s having a book written about her. She has asked me to write a chapter; something that will explain my perspective on her life. I’m not ready yet but hopefully I will be soon.

A Song for a Heart

July 11, 2002

10 months after the terrorist attack on our country.
While I was playing on a beach in Galveston
Hours before Josh looked up at the stars and asked me to marry him.

My friend Lindsey turned a corner too fast and flipped her car. She was seventeen years old.

For the past two days, I’ve been trying to find the words to say on the 5th anniversary of her death. I still haven’t.

Lindsey and I weren’t best friends. We were running buddies in High School. Lindsey and I had both joined the Cross-Country team before it had been popular.
Before the guys had made a perfect score at District.
Before they had won second at State.
Before Cross –Country surpassed Basketball as ‘The Sport’ at our small East Texas High School.
Before all of that, Lindsey and I ran together.
She had asthma and could easily persuade me to stop for a break on our long runs down the country roads that surrounded our school. We would talk about stuff at school- classes and teachers. I also had the reputation of singing when I ran. It would keep our minds off of the long miles in front of and behind us. Lindsey would make requests and I would quickly try to remember whatever lines I could. A lot of times our conversations would drift to Christianity. Lindsey was extremely interested in the book of Revelations. She was a recent edition to the faith, so she was still perplexed by all the ‘cool Christian’ things that most young believers find incredibly interesting. Was the world really going to end? How was it all going to happen?
As I mentioned before, I wasn’t always a Christian. I wasn’t raised in the church, but as soon as I was saved, I became extremely involved. I was President of FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) in high school and everything that came with the title: I was pious yet approachable, I was Super Christian Girl.

This is the part where if my life were a movie, I would have found out how big of an impact I had on Lindsey’s life. I didn’t. I don’t know if she talked to me about these things because of who I was or if it was because she was truly interested. Either way, I was convinced that Lindsey was a member of the faith and bound for heaven one day.

But I wasn’t expecting that day.

July 13, 2002 was a blur. I had been on a family vacation with my father when Lindsey had taken the curve too fast. I arrived back to Livingston on the day of her funeral. My mother greeted me at the door, sat me down, and said that Lindsey’s funeral was in two hours. My clearest memory is of her mother. She was taking condolences, her head bent slightly as she mumbled a “thank you” to every passer-by. As I came to her, she grabbed on to my hand, lifted her eyes, and said ‘Thank you Clare, Thank you for coming. It would have meant a lot to her”.

Again, if life were a movie.

I don’t know why she chose me to say that to. I don’t know why she stopped and looked at me so intently, as if I had truly done something remarkable by coming to the funeral. Like I said, Lindsey and I were never extremely close. Sure, I had been the only white kid to go to her birthday party freshman year (Lindsey was Alabama-Coushatta) but that was more because I was excited to be invited to ANY birthday party.
I like to think it had something to do with our daily runs. Maybe, some of our conversations had changed Lindsey and she had commented to her mother. Maybe not. It scares me a little now to think about what Lindsey would think of me five years later. When I see Lindsey’s mom, I think of the responsibility my classmates and I were given that day, that we should achieve all the things that Lindsey could not. I would like to tell her that I still go on daily runs but have yet to find a better partner. I would tell her that I don’t have all the answers anymore but I am trying.

If only

“If you were with me tonight, I would sing to you just one more time. A song for a heart so big, God wouldn’t let it live”

I'm Driving

I want a breeze, and an open mind
I want to swim in the ocean
and take my time for me--all me


So I'm finally graduating and moving away. This has been one of the best times of my life. I read somewhere that in your twenties, you're simply reacting. I felt like that for a long time. I felt like I was only reacting to the situations and people around me. I couldn't figure out why I didn't like dating, but then I realized it was because it all felt like a charade. Two people get dressed up to put their best faces forward. Small talk and cheap wine collide until you walk away-realizing there's nothing real. I'm tired of other people making the decisions. I'm tired of playing life like it's a spectator sport.
So I'm moving. Where? I don't know. What am I going to do? I haven't figured it out yet. But it's my life and it's the only one I've got.
And as far as dating......I think my next response will be- "welcome to my life; you're welcome to come along for the ride, but I'm driving"

When all you got is hurt

I have seen:

A man walk aimless around an airport, holding a bouquet of mother’s day flowers for his long lost son, later, crying himself to sleep because his son never showed,

A friend ashamed, explaining that her mother is lost again in some bar on the main strip, lying next to me because she couldn’t stay at home,

A mother walk slowly through a church, as everyone stares, knowing that her son was just convicted of murder,

A girl afraid to spend the night alone because it is the anniversary of her rape, an act that stole her dignity and hope,

A young man cry, knowing his love is leaving and when she returns it will never be the same; trying to hold back tears behind his sunglass,

A father afraid of his daughter and the woman she has become, knowing he can never teach her all the things he hopes and prays for,

A woman consumed by her own restlessness, a constant need for change and the disappointment that follows; looking back at me in the mirror.



When was the last time I held you all through the night?
Never a worry would run through my heart like a knife.
Feels like a zillion years and I don't want to wait more.
To find you, is to lose you.
What is that for?
One more night and I might never know who you are;
tell me.