http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YMLmlHfehQ

So, today I turn 15. While I've thought about this fact only briefly, I did come across one thought that could summarize what I've learned in life thus far.

Memories are almost an addiction for the most of us. We hold them with both hands, and let them live by telling of them until they are worn into just words. But as I proceed into the coming years, months, days, or whatever I have left, I want to be hands-on involved into my life at the moment, releasing past memories to fall into the places they belong.

It's a winding road, when you're in the lost and found. You're a lover, I'm a runner and we go 'round and 'round.

The feeling of relief after a good cry is comparable to few things in life. As I type I just think one thing, however sinful it is, goddamn it. Hello to all readers, if you're just tuning in, be aware that I am not a people pleaser, but I tell it like it is.

My breath is sharp and punctuated by my shivering, audible even above the music flowing from my earphones and into my ears. Sometimes I just wonder, are there people in similar situations to mine that, like me, don't share it with many or even any. I wonder, do the people I encounter daily know what is happening in my life, or are they maybe even too consumed with struggles in their own, greater than mine? 

I am long since discovering that my mother and I will never cease to fight. But, on Friday, as I drove five hours with her to visit my dying grandfather, I had a fleeting idea that maybe that didn't have to be the case. Once more, I realize how far off that thought was. One more fight, one less day. The thought keeps scrolling through my brain, continuously, just as Krispy Kreme doughnuts do in the factory behind the seemingly quaint dining area. I've realized the worst type of fights are the ones which are inclusive of words beyond the personal sphere, which are shameful, seizing words, that just leave you breathless.

As I sat eating my 3 Minute Brownie, back against my cheetah print pillow that I can't remember life without, I heard my mom's footsteps advancing up the stairs and knew they were directed towards me. She brought in her cell phone, the back held together by a piece of duct tape, an abhorrent yet sufficing solution to her. My father was on the other end, and we spoke for a while, about my mom's and my argument, about my grandfather, about trivial topics. Only a few of the hundreds of words he spoke really registered with me, depositing an unpleasant sting on my argument with my mom. "I don't have any more money and she is having to use her savings to shop for you." Suddenly I knew why she had been so taken aback as I complained about the lack of apple sauce and cheez-its. 

I wish I could draw a cliche picture for you, how I sat with my head in my hands and was so torn up, how I cried, how I sat in dismay at my own ignorance. But, instead, I just used the back of my spoon to smush the rest of my brownie, and strained to hold back tears, to let myself be weak, one thing my grandfather wasn't. I remained immobile, and sucked in my own breath hard, pulling my hair back to keep from falling in my face. I just rested, without movement, my head placed on the edge of the desk behind me. Looking up at my fan, I just wept. I wouldn't look down and allow even more tears escape from my eyes, as I saw that my grandfather is just one more thing neither my dad nor I have anymore of. And I refused to look down, because I am too aware that the bottom is lurking right beneath me, that my white flag stands taller than I do, and that there is no where left for me to run.  .

Money makes for a great slave but a horrible master

Ah, it feels good to be back. I had been meaning to post for such a long time, but I've had a shortage of time. The days feel so long in the passing but all at once, they're gone.

Inside me, emotions are so abundantly flowing, making every move of mine feel stifled. So many feelings that I am unsure of what to make of them. It's like a fork in the river, with more than two ways to go. These next few months of my life fit that last sentence perfectly. Oh, how things can change. But, maybe in these next few months there will be a glorious beginning. Which is where I should probably start.

I have been blessed with two parents who love me dearly and are wonderful. But, as the economy crashed, my parents' jobs were both taken. And while this has been an adjustment, I'm afraid the adjustment of adjustments is ahead of me. Needless to divulge all the details, my parents' funds run out right after Christmas. What is there to say? Fear is for cowards, though sometimes the cowards are the wiser ones.

So much of what I know as true, so much of my lifestyle, has been altered already and may be once more. As I glance around my room from behind my laptop, I picture all of my belongings in boxes, them being the only part of me that will be ready to leave this house. And while I can picture this room stark white, back to the way it was the first time I saw it, none of my possessions will remain. I'll be all I have left, with one exception. Jesus remains. Sometimes I had to admit this truth, but He's the only thing I've learned I can hold on to. As things, places and people have been stripped from my life, as I've had to adjust to living on less, Jesus never once even shifted.

"Things can only go up from here," a friend told me the day I found out my dad had lost his job. Boy, were they wrong. I am desperately afraid, I won't lie. But if things go down from here, I know one thing. My desire is to be at the bottom, sitting on Jesus' lap, his arms cradling my trembling body.