Decisions Arising

Army logo

As the new year comes around, I realize how close it is to March.  I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before, and if I have it’s been a while anyways, but I am eligible to reenlist in the Army in March.  For the past month, I thought I had made my decision and decided that the Army was not for me.  But, as the date gets closer and closer I find myself thinking about it more and more.  If I could just get a few health things worked out (*ahemloseweightahem*) and maybe a temp living situation in Amarillo, I could easily do it.

But, I have reservations about it, of course.  It seems like anything I decide I have reservations about.  Including which socks I should wear.  No lie people.  I think I’m really scared that something will happen like last time and I won’t have a place to go again.  I don’t want to end up stuck in Amarillo.  Especially not Canyon.  And… well, that’s basically all my reservations right there.  I’m scared.

I have looked into college while I’ve been in Dallas.  At one point, I was actually going to go except for the whole meningitis-shot-being-a-whole-lot-of-money-I-don’t-have-because-I’m-not-married-to-Miles-Austin-yet thing.  And I decided that I didn’t want to.

Oh, I just thought of something.  We’re moving into apartments where not all of the adults can be full-time students.  Both of my parents are full-time students.  Crap.

But, ignoring the facts that basically just made my decision for me, I really enjoyed being around the other future soldiers and my sergeants (some were just good to look at).  I loved learning all the lingo and traditions and how to march and turn and all the commands.  I loved hearing about boot camp and stations and forts.  I loved the history.  I loved just walking into the station and hearing a loud chorus of, “Heyyyy… It’s Private LOW-ry.  Hu-up!!!”  We could insult each other and still respect each other.  My sergeant could look me in the eye and say, “You’re wrong.  You screwed up.  I’m right.”  And I would love that they could do that so confidently and be willing to explain why.  Only once was I ever yelled at, and I didn’t even mind because I knew I deserved it.  We covered each other; we partied together; we helped each other; we shot each other with nerf guns; we played ulitmate frisbee together; we ran together, went to a rodeo together, got called persistent-assholes together for our recruiting efforts…. I have never felt so  … … … at home.  Peaceable.

Sure, I know boot camp is hard.  Grueling.  They get in your face.  And I wanted it.  Yeah, it’s not all fun and games.  Your purpose is to protect America.  People die.  But, honestly, I wouldn’t mind dying around those people.  I wouldn’t mind dying with those people as my family.  Surrounded by the people who made the same commitment as me.  Even the people I couldn’t stand, I could respect.  And it went both ways.

I’m starting to think the timing was all wrong.  I just wasn’t mature enough to handle it in high school/right after I graduated.  I’m ready now to do what it takes though.  And I know I can.  A part of me has to, whether I enlist or not.  A part of me itches to go outside and run, time my pushups, learn the history.  I need to know I can do it.  I need to know that I can walk into that station in March and look my Captain in the eye and say, “I was wrong.  I screwed up.  But now I’ve fixed it, and I’m ready to go.”  To feel that companionship and pride and stability and adventure of being a part of the United States Army.


The Long, Spiraling Trip

I feel you girl.
I feel you girl.

This weekend I made yet another trip to Amarillo to go get my little sisters from their dad’s where they spent most of Christmas break.  While I was looking forward to the chaos of having all eight people home again, this is probably one of those trips I would like to just tack up to depressingly disappointing and forget it.  But, since I have a lack of anything nice to say to people in general, I will just spread the depressingness.

The trip didn’t necessarily start out bad.  However, what happened before the trip certainly set the mood.  My grandmother and aunt took my mom, sister, and me to all go see Les Miserables.  While the movie was ridiculously awesome and filled with some of my favorite people (Wolverine, Bellatrix Lestrange, Little Red Riding Hood, and Princess Mia just to name a few) it was also so depressing I think my body legitimately ran out of tears.  And as I’ve menitoned before, I don’t cry.  After an unintentional teary farewell, my mom and I were on our way.

First–it took a depressingly long time to get there.  Everything seems longer when you’re in the passenger’s seat.

Secondly–turns out that Sunday is no longer the holy day of football.  No, two of the playoff games were played on Saturday.  Weird.  Unnatural.  Wrong.  Then to top of the horribleness of it all.  Not only did the freakin’ stupid Texans have to win, but so did the dumb Packers.  I hate both.  I swear to the caramel popcorn sitting in front of me, that I will blow chunks if Green Bay goes to the Super Bowl.  I will eat a goldfish if the Texans do.  Then I will blow chunks.

Thirdly–I become completely and irrevocably sick.  I was sleeping in my Meeme’s wonderful, soft bed and memory foam pillow only to wake up at 4:30 because of lack of nasal breathing.  After getting up to take a potty break and get a drink, I go back to bed only to be awoken out of the twilight zone between sleep and awareness by a text from our good friend…. Cameron.

Yeah, I’m stupid I know.  Oh, and warning, it’s about to get high-school-teenger up in here.  He called my Thursday night and we talked for a while.  He told me he wanted to see me.  And I told him I would be coming into town soon.  But, after a few more minutes he said he had to go and that he would call me back soon.  Well, he texted me while I’m sulking in my misery of Les Mis and being sick.  At five o’ clock in the morning.  I was so confused.  After telling him it was typical and to be expected of him I went to sleep.  Only to be awakened at the butt crack of dawn (8:30) by dear, lost Cameron calling me.  I was so confused I actually answered.  Then I just stared at the phone until I realized I should hang up.  Later he said he still wanted to see me (not picking up the hints), so I told him he could eat lunch with my mom and me before we headed out.  Typical Cameron-style, he didn’t show and hasn’t talked to me since then.  Why do I act like a three-year old when it comes to him?  Anyhow, I’m done.

So, tune back in people.  I also found out a couple of interesting things about my siblings while I was on my trip.  Apparently my brother has been lying to his girlfriend about being CANADIAN and that he went to Canada over winter break to go to a funeral.  As far as I know, he has never even been to Canada.  It just makes me really sad that something like that would happen.  I used to do the same thing when I was in junior high.  When my friends told me they had been to some cool place and gotten something for me, I decided to pretend I had to and would give them something from my room.  Junior high I figured out what I was doing wrong and came clear with my friends.  I told them everything.  Thank God they were understanding and forgave me.  It certainly caused a lot of trust issues between us though.  It also makes me wonder if all the stories he told me are true.  Just really sad-making.

And now I’m going to go. I have some pondering to do.


As I read all of the blog posts and articles reminiscing over the past year and getting me all hyped for the new year (snicker), I have come to my yearly contemplation of …….


Freakin’ New Year’s resolutions, dawg.  They’re kind of a big pain in the butt.  Think of something you want to change (a.k.a. admit I’m not perfect–pshaaw) pretend you actually care about it for a whole two weeks (maybe just two days) and then start all over fifty weeks later when you are in almost the exact same position.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some people out there who really need to get some stuff sorted out.  But, for reals, don’t kid yourself.  It’s rude.  It’s annoying.  And maybe a little–


Ah, yes.  Where are my manners?

Honestly, it’s not that I don’t think change will be good, it’s that I don’t see why this will be different from any other year.

But I suppose it’s all about looking back and seeing what you don’t like and going forward with the promise of…. hope?  Change?  Betterment?  (Is that a thing?)  You hear it over and over again, “be the change you want to see”, “make the change happen”, and whatever Obama’s slogan was…  And BASICALLY what it comes down to is whether or not you want to do it.  Maybe you want the change, but are you willing to put forth the effort to make that change.  Maybe if you’re not able to put forth the effort you aren’t ready to have that change in your life.

With that little diatribe in mind (and I was preaching to the choir here), maybe resolutions aren’t as cracked and whacked as I make them out to be sometimes.  Maybe, this little query of mine is something that has been put in my mind for a reason.  Perhaps it’s time for CHANGE.  (Was that Obama’s slogan?  Kind of to the point.)  Maybe it’s time I really looked at what needs to be changed, what needs to be revised, what needs to be fixed.  And I need to put forth the effort to get myself there.  Otherwise, I’m just stagnant water.  And if you guys don’t know, that means I would become like the swamp monster or something cuz I’d just have a bunch of algae growing out of my…. pores.

Ain't nobody got time for that!
Ain’t nobody got time for that!

And with that I bid you, adieu.  (Is that right, Nanners?)


Sometimes I can’t help but feel helpless.

She says she can’t act,


I’ve never seen one better.

Always saying without saying,

“I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Always looking fine,

just worried about school.

Always looking fine,

but I miss the signs.

Bags under the eyes.

Just tired.

Just tired.

Not wanting to sleep.

Just homework.

Just homework.

Sad look in her eyes.

Just stressed.

Just stressed.



just changed her mind.


All my fault.

Who’s fault?

“God won’t give you something you can’t handle.”

Lies.  Lies.

“There is beauty in life.”

I just see pain.

She’s just sick.

She made herself this way.

She made herself this way

for a reason.

I feel anger.

I feel the need to be





I’m not

good enough?

What does she need?



it doesn’t matter.

Not me.




Just lost.

Just lost.


“Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor.”

Picture perfect.




Always something off.

Hard to see.

But always there.

Like a demon on our shoulder.

Can’t enter,

but causes hell all the same.

I just want it to be okay!!

I just want to fix it!!

But how do you shake it?

“Dog days are over.”



How do you say I’m here,

when you’re not really?

How do you say you’re fine,

when you know it’s a lie?

How do you tell the truth,

when it just hurts everyone?

Listen to music.

Escape reality.


You head it on the head.



I needed you,

you weren’t there.

Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“I’m starting with the man in the mirror.”




Can’t stop until perfection.

Redo it.

Not straight.

Too slow.






Not crazy.




Not good enough.







I can’t.


I hope.


I, in you.

Just want to make it better.

Just want you to be happy.


Truly happy.

I drown my sadness.

You avoid yours.

I blow out my frustration

like smoke.

You absorb it.

I sweat out my loneliness.

All too busy to notice yours.

“I’m messed up, and you’re broken.”

“Those shots we fired are still smoking.”

Still smoking.

Still shooting.






Don’t suck it up.

Big girls do cry.

Black holes swallow all light.

Who’s to blame?



The guy next door.

The girl upstairs.

The guy in prison.

The girl at school.

The teacher,






Devotion to pain.

Seeing, but not changing.

No words.

Just feelings.

Just feelings.

“There will be beauty through pain.”

Deer eyes.

Cascading hair.

One, two.



Three, four.



Five, six.



Seven, eight.

Looks deep.


Nine, ten.



Eleven, twelve.

Not yet impure.

Not yet hardened.

Not yet insensitive.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.


Down to earth.


Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.



Sometimes I can’t help but feel helpless.

Picture perfect.



it doesn’t exist anyway.



We do.

Worst Hate Crime

WP_000005 WP_000006 WP_000007 WP_000008 WP_000009I’ve been struggling a lot recently to keep my mood up.  It’s not so easy to just choose to be happy like everybody makes it out to be.  When I got kicked out, I wasn’t very upset really.  It ended up being a late night and a lot of moving.  But I didn’t cry.  I didn’t cry the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that.  I kind of surprised myself by my own lack of emotion.  I didn’t cry at my graduation.  I didn’t cry when I was discharged.  I didn’t cry when my dad told me I was making the biggest mistake of my life by moving in with my mom.  I never cried when he called me stupid, immature, fat, “just like your mother”, ungrateful, or even bitch.  I didn’t even cry when he said he didn’t want to talk to me anymore.  I was hurt, and I got a little choked up, but it was all okay.  I pulled myself out before I could actually put the effort into crying.

Now, this past weekend I traveled with my mom back to Canyon to pick up the rest of my stuff.  My grandpa was awesome and drove us down in his truck and helped us load everything up and fed us dinner.  Darla, my stepmom, tried to lecture me when she saw me about how they were the victims and I was the super villian but I just told her we would pull around to the alley way even though she said the week before that my stuff had been moved out of there.  Excuse me, but I have to rant a little here.  She has always preached and preached about how she just hates liars.  HATES them.  She’s lied to me soooo many times. “Your stuff has been moved out of the storage building you need to get it out.”  “I’m not trying to be mean.” “I love you.”  Get over yourself.  Anyways, I was completely fine then.  A little annoyed, but fine.  I wasn’t hurt over the fact that my dad really didn’t even see me.  At least he means what he says though.

I get home Sunday evening and get ready for work.  I get off a little after ten.  I run to Wal-Mart to get some hangers.  I figured having all of my books, I would need to hang all of my clothes so I can put my books somewhere until I get bookcases.  After all, I have over a hundred books.  I finally get home past eleven and carry all the boxes inside.  After opening three of them I’m starting to get pissed off because none of the boxes have had any of my books in them.  Then I finally get to the last box.  And it had books in it alright.  And almost every single one had water damage.  And you know what I did?  I put my pajamas on and went to bed.  I couldn’t do anything but lay down and cry.  I felt so defeated.

This morning when I got up I figured I would be able to look at it calmer.  But I just cried and seriously debated calling a lawyer.  Thankfully my mom talked me out of that, sort of.  The thing about my books is that they were always my escape.  They made me laugh and cry and happy and sad.  I would stay up late waiting for my parents to go to bed so I could turn on a light and read some more.  I have a lot of memories that I associate with the books I was reading at that time.  I have always had my books.  And they were ruined.  I don’t even know how to explain to everybody that I don’t want them replaced.  I want these.  I sounds material and stupid.  You don’t have to tell me.  But it is what it is.  It was all okay until now.  Until now, it was just the way the cookie crumbles.  Now, it feels like nothing more than a hate crime.

I emailed Darla pictures of my books.  I told her I would be paying her nothing out of compensation for them firstly, not giving me anywhere close to all of my books, and secondly for ruining the few I had left.   Congratulations.  You finally made me cry.


Find light in the beautiful sea.  I choose to be happy.  You and I, you and I.  We’re like diamonds in the sky

You’re a shooting star I see.  A vision of ecstasy.  When you hold me I’m alive.  We’re like diamonds in the sky

I knew we’d become one right away.  Oh, right away.  At first sight I left the energy of sun rays.  I saw the life inside your eyes

So shine bright, tonight you and I.  We’re beautiful like diamonds in the sky.  Eye to eye, so alive.  We’re beautiful like diamonds in the sky.

Shine bright like a diamond.

Shine bright like a diamond.

Shine bright like a diamond.

We’re beautiful like diamonds in the sky.



(Diamonds by Rihanna)

The Playground

The Playground

It’s like I’ve been standing at the top of a jungle gym with a bunch of slides, and they all led to different parts of the playground.  But instead of picking one and going down it, I was just going around in a circle looking at all of them.  Sometimes looking longer at some than others, but always looking.  Occasionally, I would sit down at the top of a slide and get ready to slide, but back up after looking at how steep the slide is.  All of the sudden, I’m starting to feel like one part of the circle is more advantageous than the rest, so I just start pacing back and forth in front of those, but never making a decision still.  It’s starting to get dark outside now, and I’m going to be called to come in soon.  I need to pick a slide.  I start pacing more frantically.  Trying to decide.  Pacing, pacing, pacing, pacing.  Faster, faster, faster.  Need to decide.  All of the sudden there is a noise from the middle of the circle.  Someone is coming up the ladder!  It’s a young man.  Clean-shaven and put together.  But upon looking closer I can see his jeans have wear and tear just like mine.  His shirt is faded and has the look of extreme comfort.  It knows its owner.  And I think I might too.  We look at each other for a moment.  He’s so calm.  Reassuring.  I feel my ears starting to burn with embarassment.  I’m almost 19 years old, standing on top of a jungle gym that I can’t decide how to get off of.  Then, I find myself talking and talking and talking.  Telling him everything.  Because, I realize, I do know him.  We’ve been best friends.  Or we used to be.  I quit it though because I thought I was better.  I thought my new friends were the friends I really needed. But, as I’m talking I realize how good of a friend he has always been to me.  Even though I only talked to him when all of my other “friends” were too busy to help me get through a dark place in the sidewalk.  He always told me it was too narrow to hold my hand, so he carried me instead.  I remembered the smell of his shirt.  Like a warm baking shop.  With a hint of cinnamon.  I can remember sitting down to cry, and he would just hold me.  He never got impatient.  And I start to feel horrible.  All this time.  All this time.  What a friend.  And before I even say it, before a single sorry can leave my chapped, bitten lips–

“It’s okay, Britt.  It’s okay.”

I sit down to cry once more.  Once more.  Once more.  Once more, he sits down and holds me.  I look up and see a path between the slides.  I didn’t notice it before.  It’s narrow.  And I can’t see where it goes.  It is dark now.  I can hear Father calling me.  I wasn’t listening.  He must have been calling for a while.  The path looks lit.  Like it has its own little sun.  I start to hear father better now.  He’s on the path!  My friend sees me looking at it.

“It’s too narrow for me to hold your hand.  I’ll carry you.”