i promise to, sing to you, when all the music dies

Grief is one of those inexplicable things that you can never really wrap your head around, can never really figure out how it happens the way it does or why it happens the way it does. All you know is that you're feeling it, and now you have to deal with it.

This incredible woman from my hometown passed away last night. She was both a friend's mother and my mother's friend. She had a nine-month long battle with an aggressive form of cancer, which was three times the amount of time the doctors had predicted she had left. She was a fighter.

But more than that: Linda was this support system for a lot of the folks in my hometown. See, Linda was one of the town's hairstylists. She did my hair from the time I was just a little thing and hardly had a reason to have my hair cut, right up until I made my big move last October. She lived through all my big moments with me: my graduation from grade 8, my prom, my scary roommate drama, my mom's own diagnosis, my graduation from undergrad, my decision to gtfo of town--Linda was there. She listened, she supported, she encouraged. She cheered with me (and with my own Momma) when I had success and shook her fist at the people who'd done me wrong. She was the first person I ran to when I'd inevitably screwed up my hair on my own: she kept me from doing crazy things to my hair, but always supported what I wanted to do. She made sure I looked good so that I felt good, and always knew just what to do to make it better. She wasn't just my friend's mother, or my mother's friend. She wasn't just a hair dresser. Linda was a friend, a support system and, particularly during her battle, an inspiration to all of us.

So maybe this is why Linda's death is hitting me so hard. Like I said, grief is inexplicable. By all accounts, I knew this was coming and should have better prepared, but I'm an emotional creature (some might say too much sometimes) and all I can do is sit here and think and feel...sad. For me, but also for her family. For her husband, whose world revolved around her. For her daughter, only a few years younger than I, who now has to finish her growing up without her Ma. For the grandkids Linda never got to meet, or the son-in-law she never got to have; for the wedding hair of mine she'll never do, and for all of the people in our town who will miss her more than words can ever explain. I cry for me, for my family, for them, for all of the missed moments yet to come.

But while my town mourns, we need to keep in mind things...Linda taught us all a lot: to love fully, to experience life to the fullest, to appreciate the little moments, to fight. I'm going to take those lessons and live my life that way, because sad as I am, I know that's the best way to honour her and her memory.

So today, everyone: hug a stranger, tell the people who matter that you love them, do something crazy that you've always wanted to do. Laugh until your stomach hurts. Eat that extra piece of cake. Live a lot. Don't ever waste a day.

Rest in peace, Linda. I know you're out there somewhere, cheering us all on, just like you always have. :)

it's gettin' lonely livin' upside down

there's this boy with beautiful eyes who breaks my heart everytime he looks at me.

its little by little
piece by piece
but i can't blame him
because he doesn't know

there's this boy with beautiful eyes who sews me back together every time he smiles at me

its little by little
and piece by piece
and i can't thank him
because he doesn't know

there's this boy with beautiful eyes who makes my soul smile every time he talks to me.

it skips and it jumps
it feels understood
and i can't tell him
because he can't know

there's this boy with a beautiful eyes who means the world to me.
it turns out he gets me
but he'll never know

do you know you're unlike any other/ you'll always be my thunder

Remember the time I didn't blog for an entire summer, because I was too busy quitting my old job then trying to get it back for the school year, prepping for my MA, working full-time at a sweet theatre job, acquiring a semi-roommate and then both of us trying to acquire a two-bedroom apartment upstairs and just generally living life? Yeah, me too.

Amidst the madness that is my life and obviously the things I've been up to, blogging has slid away from me the way that books half-finished have slid under my bed: I know that they're there and need paying-attention-to, but I just haven't the time or inclination to do so.

Now, staring down the barrel of my 23rd birthday, and the end of my year off from formal, post-secondary education, I recognize the need to get back to my blog. My brain churns with crazy thoughts, and I want to get them all down, but as it stands, I don't know how to put it all into words. It's almost been a year since I started this thing, and looking back I can see how I've grown. I need to keep growing, and keep recording. Lord knows it keeps me grounded.

So hello again, blogosphere. Let us not be apart for so long ever again.

i'm done with how it feels, spinnin' my wheels, lettin' you drag my heart around

Between busting up my baby toe, battling my new roommates the carpenter ants (I will win this one yet!), working, and getting all kinds of exciting news, May has been one of those crazy months that just flies by.

Part of the reason is that I took a trip up to my hometown in the nord. I celebrated a birthday with one of my oldest and best friends in the world; I belatedly celebrated mother's day and my Gram's birthday with the women who mean most to me; and I got a chance to see my Momma before her shoulder surgery this week.

Overall, it was a great trip. The weather was mostly awesome, and I got loads of good news, including: a) that I got into grad school for September; b) that I got a sweet theatre-related summer job I applied for and c) that the parentals gifted me my birthday present a few months early, in the form of a new laptop, since the old one gave up on the whole living thing (RIP little guy!)

Despite all of this visiting-and-great-news awesomeness, a trip to the north ultimately results in me re-evaluating my life choices and plans. This is a theme that has carried through the remainder of the month.

See, here's the thing: everyone and their uncle seems to have some sort of plan. Whether it be that they want to have kids by the time they're 30, or that they're currently planning to buy a home in the north within the next year, or that they're engaged to their partner and are planning a wedding: it seems like everyone is moving forward with their lives, like everyone has some sort of concrete plan.

And for awhile there, it had me feeling left behind. Here I am, just a girl on her own, floating through life with no real plans at the moment. Yes, there's work, and yes, there's grad school on the horizon, but I haven't got any of those "settle-down" plans set in my brain yet, and seeing so many of my friends, both old and new, have these things plotted out for themselves made me worry. I had about a week where I thought I was doing everything wrong, and that I needed to get this shit sorted out, 'cause clearly everyone else does!

Ah, yes. That freakout. But returning home (my L-dot home, that is), always returns my perspective, and I realized that it's silly of me to be having that freakout. That girl isn't me. I'm not the kind of person who wants to settle down just yet; I'm not the kind of girl who does well with carefully constructed plans. I've always done better flying by the seat of my pants--some of my best life choices have been done that way. I like not knowing what life's going to throw at me. I like letting things happen naturally, organically, the way the universe wants them to. And I love the sense of adventure I get the whole time I'm just going with the flow, living.

With all of that comes the realization that I also am really good at exaggerating. There are a lot of people who have these plans in my life right now, yes, but not everyone is planning their life out in meticulous detail right now. Not everyone is looking to settle down just yet. I've got people around me with the same goals and fly-by-night tendencies that I've got...and that's awesome. We've all got to do our own thing. As long as my friends are happy doing whatever it is they're doing, whatever it is they're planning, I'm a happy girl. And I'm happy with who I am, what I am, and what I choose to do (or plan).

Someone close to me recently called me a "free spirit".

Free. Spirit.

I like the sounds of that.

we're like fire and gasoline, i'm no good for you, you're no good for me

The title of this post has nothing to do with the post itself. I've just been listening to it on repeat. You're all welcome.

I've recently been plagued with a question that I don't have the answer to, a thought that I just can't seem to get rid of. See, after a series of events, I've started to wonder if I'm kind of a bitch.

...I'm not kidding. I know that I'm loud, and I usually say whatever it is that I'm thinking. I'm aware that I can be a lot to handle or rub people the wrong way and that my honesty about certain scenarios and my intense loyalties can come across as jarring.

But I've always prided myself on also being fun and well, sweet: it would kill me to know that something I said in jest actually hurt someone else. I don't go out of my way to be a jerk, and I don't think of myself as confrontational so much as just honest, so if you've wronged me, you're going to know about it. And lately I've been confronted with the notion that maybe this honesty is just perceived as a penchant to be bitchy. Here's why:

Instance Number 1: I was driving some folks home after an evening of rehearsing for UWO English's Summer Shakespeare production, Antony and Cleopatra (And yes, I just plugged my show. Click the link). As we were putting along in Mia on this incredibly rainy evening (thanks, L-dot, for always raining), one of the guys who I'm only really acquainted with made a remark about if we wanted him to be quiet he could ride in the trunk. I laughed, and replied "Don't worry, if I want you to be quiet I'll tell you". Other passengers, who are close friends of mine, laughed and responded "Yeah, that's about the extent of it". Passenger one says, "Yeah, you struck me as that kind of person. No offence or anything".

And I'm not offended. Not even a little. But I worry that I've offended someone else.

Instance Number 2: I get a text message after a night out from one of my favourite people in the world. She has received a message from an ex of hers, that said something along the lines of "I saw Jess in line at bar X. I was going to say hi, but she'd probably kill me." We laughed about it, but it made me think. Yes, he had wronged her, and yes, I was upset for her when it all happened. I haven't seen him since (shocking, since I run into everyone else's exes). I will let people know when they're douchey, but it's been months. Does he not think I'm capable of being awkwardly polite? (Please see earlier posts for proof that I am!!) Do I really seem like such a bitch that if you hurt my friend I can never, ever just drunkenly say "hi" to you if we happen to bump into each other on the busiest street in the city??

For the record: I said bar X because I don't want you to know where I was actually standing in line. It's embarrassing. For reals.

So there you have it: reasons why I've been pondering how I deal with people and if somehow under my bubbly exterior I actually come across as a huge bitch. Seriously, it's been plaguing me, because I don't want to come across that way.

But:

After several chats with several of my really close friends, I've come to the tentative conclusion that I'm not a bitch, that I am just honest and open with people and comfortable (relatively) with who I am and what I say, in a take-me-or-leave-me-but-I-ain't-changing-for-you-alone kind of way. And that makes up part of who I am, and part of what I like about myself. And that's okay.

But I'll probably still check myself a little when the potential for sarcasm or bitchiness comes up--just in case.

she said, "you make me better, boy, I just mailed you a letter, boy, and oh so you know I'm still in your sweater, boy"

If you read the title of this post and now have this Hedley song playing over and over in your head, I'd like to apologize.

I'd like to, but I won't, because I can't get rid of it either. Misery loves company and all that jazz. Though, sometimes, misery needs its own personal space, a little alone time, too.  For example: have you ever just had one of those nights where you needed to drive? Not anywhere in particular, not with an endgame in mind, but just drive around aimlessly?

I had one of those last night.

I dropped off some friends, with the full intention of heading home. I pointed Mia the Kia in the direction, but when it came time for me to turn down my street, I just didn't. I went the opposite direction, looped around the city about twice, my new playlist of sappy, slow, rainy-day kind of music (including the Hedley song!!!)playing all the while.

I didn't do it to kill the environment with a few more gas fumes. I didn't do it because I can afford to waste gas (lord knows no one can with the prices these days...vom!). I really didn't even do it because I was particularly in need of time killing--who is really?

I did it because I needed to think. And sometimes just trying to get the thoughts out in text form, be it in a notebook or here in this little blog o mine, just isn't enough. Sometimes I need to drive around in the dark and think about the things that are bothering me, til I can formulate them into sentences, enough to put them down on paper or in a blog post.

So here it is:

I've been letting myself down. I know that sounds a little bit crazy, but it's also true.  I made a promise to myself this year that I was going to be braver. I wrote it down on paper, I wrote it in my blog, I labelled it a resolution, and so far, I've done nothing but let myself down and break it altogether. Which is crap. I didn't make it so I could just stare at it and think "Oh, Jess"--I made it to keep it, and yet I haven't. And why?

Because I'm scared. Good Lord, am I scared. It's interesting- I can make big changes and take big risks when it comes to things like moving, or work, or applying for grad school. But make me think about my personal life, and holy henna, it goes to hell in a handbasket.

See, the thing that spawned this entire need-a-drive thought process of mine, aside from there being someone particular in mind, are the two friends I dropped off before I took said drive. They are just one of the cutest couples I have ever known. I knew them pre-their coupledom, and they're easily some of the coolest cats on the planet, and they just make each other smile and laugh and they're so freaking awesome that I realized I want that. I really, really want that, and I'm so freakin' sick of not having it because I'm too scared to take a chance, to risk a friendship; too scared to see that there's possibilities beyond rejection, and far too terrified to put my heart out there just in case. I'm one tough chicka, but it took a lot of hurt to get me that way, and I haven't yet been able to let it go. "Once bitten, twice shy" and all that.

But I'm tired of being a cliche, and I need to take the reins and stop being such a chickenshit.

With big risks come big rewards, and I'll never know until I try.

So here goes.

Wish me luck?

i can't decide if i'll let you save my life, or if i'll drown

And once again Jmart fails the blogging by only posting one during the entire 31 days of March.

I'd like to lie and say that there's a really good reason, but there isn't. Typing in the medieval torture device that was the wrist brace I ended up in was crappy, and I didn't have a whole lot of anything to ponder.

But now I do.

And instead of being able to sum it all up in my usual verbose way (oh, that was an oxymoronic sentence), I've decided to give you this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvbErM6ZTBA

It's "Arms" by Christina Perri, an artist I discovered only recently, though I'm told her "Jar of Hearts" single has been around for quite some time and I've apparently just been hiding myself under a musical rock.

Anyway.

Her words speak everything I want to about my scenario. And yes, there is a boy, and as a result this song has been on repeat for me for days, because it gives me this feeling of just being understood. Her struggle between wanting to be loved and worrying about destroying the one who loves her; between finding her place in their arms and still wanting to run and look for her place; they're me. They're all me right now, they're everything I've wanted to say and everything I can't say. I want to be saved. I want to be caught when I fall. I want all of those things, but I'm more terrified of trying to get those things than I have been of anything else in my life (including an incident in my store with a bird, which, for the record, is really effing terrifying. For me.)

So just listen to the song. Listen to all of her songs. I hope they help you think...of me. Of you. Of your wants and dreams and hopes and fears and how you're going to get those all into one place and ultimately get what you want and who you want and who and what you deserve.

I promise that as it plays over and over, I'm doing the same. For you. For me. For all of us.

today i finally overcame, trying to fit my world inside a picture frame

So I've been thinking a lot about pictures as of late. I've also been running into all of my good friends' douchey exes. Really, stellar week. You may wonder how these things connect--the answer, of course, is that my brain is magic.

...Okay, not exactly. But here's the thing:

In the last few weeks I have had several encounters of exes of my girlfriends. These particular girls mean the world to me: they've pulled me through some of the hardest moments in my life, and in turn I've had to see what these particular exes have done to them. Now, I want to go with my "angry best friend" voice and call them terrible people, or rant and rave about them being balding-ginger-douches, but...I won't. While I will call them that on occasion, and I truly do have a lot lower opinions of them than I used to, I also have to play devil's advocate and realize that in every relationship that eventually ends, there has to be a bad guy. Who you put in that role sometimes depends on which side of the fence you land on, who was your friend first, etc.

I am in no way discounting the shitty things these boys did. In fact, I would have loved to have spent the awkward interaction moments with them yelling at them for being morons and raving about how they're the ones who've lost, because obviously losing one of my friends is the biggest mistake of their lives.

I still believe all of that (and girls, you know how much I love you).

But beyond this two-sides-to-the-same-coin outlook that I suspect my cold meds are responsible for, I've also began to wonder about some other parts of our interactions.

Why is it that these guys thought to seek me out in a group scenario, to greet me with a smile, to ask how I am and what I'm doing and how things are going and to comment on my still-casted arm? What said to them that it would be a good idea to be civil, nay friendly, to me? Was it my cold "you hurt my friend" glare? My obviously sarcastic, short and terse responses? The way I started to back away when one of them moved in for a hug? Was it that??

Or...was it because they thought that perhaps, beyond the connection of the girl they used to date and ultimately hurt, perhaps we had some sort of relationship, connection, friendship? This is where those old pictures come into play. I've been doing a lot of creeping on Fbook as of late: not in the trying-to-find-a-man sense or anything like that, but just looking at photos from a year or years ago, albums my friends have posted or have tagged me in. They bring back some of the happiest, funniest memories, with captions that trigger a hilarious reaction to a long-forgotten scene in our friendship. They bring back the: "Remember the time?" and "How about when we?". They spark the random quotes that are thrown into conversation, inside joeks that make us laugh until our stomachs hurt. These pictures have been inordinately successful in helping me waste time while I am continually broken.

And in some of those pictures are these very douchey exes that I've had the pleasure of running into over the last little while. And some of the funniest moments include them, and some of the funny things were said by them, and some of the funniest faces I've ever made were because of them.

So I'm left to wonder: what exactly do I do in these scenarios? Most of me wants to yell at them and tell them they're crazy and various other expletives; a quarter of me wants to remember that they're only human too, and the remaining fourth realizes that there are good memories tired to and shared with this person. What's a girl to do?

Simply: the only thing she can. Grin and bare it through the awkwardness; show disapproval for their shitty choices in expression and intonation; and then haul ass as far away and as fast as one can, texting the girls all the while: "omg, guess who I just saw".

I'm learning to forgive, but not forget: you're only human, you make mistakes, and everyone, in one way or another, deserve a second chance. That's my forgive, and I'm working on it.

But I won't forget: not the shitty things they've chosen, but also not the hilarious, happy moments we shared somewhere along this road called life.

Forgive, but don't forget. Today's moral from the broken one.

i love you but i leave you, i don't want you but i need you

And despite my crossed fingers and hope for the best, I enter week seven of injured wrist-itude with a new, equally neon-coloured cast.

I saw my arm for approximately 3.4456 seconds. I got to scratch one dry spot. Then it was back into fibreglass, at least for another two weeks, til the poking and prodding and testing of our marvellous health care system can figure out wtf is wrong with me. Because apparently, apparently, there might not have been a fracture at all. But: "Oh, scaphoids are pretty hard to tell my dear" and "I'm about 90% sure that it was fractured" and "Well you're still having a lot of pain right there, so there must be something"

No shit.

I'm getting a little tired of guessing games when it comes to my health. I want my arm back, I want to go back to my full-time job, I want to be able to shower without a freakin' plastic bag having to join me (plastic bags, unlike other people, do not make good shower companions)...I am just frustrated at having been injured, and even more frustrated that this medical system has been jerking me around for SEVEN WEEKS.

Either it is fractured, or it isn't. If it isn't, figure out what's wrong. Being given guesses isn't good enough for me anymore, and when an xray tech brings me to tears because the pain is excrutiating as she's trying to get my wrist in the right spot for a (count it) fourth set of radioactive pictures of my freaking arm, I think it's a PRETTY GOOD SIGN that somethin' ain't right.

I'm not asking the hospital to know everything. I'm just asking for some answers, and maybe, maybe just a little less condescension in their tones when they talk to me. I'm not 2, I'm 22, and I know my own body. When something hurts, it hurts. Help me figure out why?

....In the meantime, I'm going back to my basically-pretty-happy attitude. Sometimes you just need a good rage post!

I leave you with a photo of my new bright green roommate--I promise I'm laughing about this all sometime tomorrow. Especially my guinea pig status.

Much love, everyone who sat through that <3

Jmart out!

there's no guarantee, that leavin' town's gonna set us both free

So, I'm still broken.

This wrist baloney makes typing blogs incredibly difficult, but I've decided to not let it get me and to keep on blogging just the same. Unfortunately, because blogging is so sucky with this broken arm thing, I won't be posting any deep, meaningful rants. Instead, today I thought I'd share my list of top 10 things that are next-to-impossible-to-do when your arm is casted from elbow to fingers, including your thumb.

I don't know if it's ever possible to truly be ready for this, but here goes:

10. Paint your nails. My left hand's look good, my right hand's cannot be completed. Fail.

9. Bra hooks. I now understand why males complain about their difficulty.

8. Buttons. Buttons are the devil when you can't use both opposable thumbs--good thing I work in retail.

7. Zippers. See above comments. Retail's AWESOME.

6. My dishes. When a cast cannot get wet, dishes become incredibly tough to deal with. It's really freakin' hard to tape my arm into a plastic bag in order to be able to just wash my dishes. And even harder to try and cut myself OUT of it.

5. Shower. The plastic bag rant applies here, too, only add in trying to wash one's hair with only one hand--squeezing out shampoo, conditioner and body wash is so not as easy as you'd think.

4. Do my hair. My hair is short. It requires a straightener, product and teasing half the time to get it the way I want. Teasing cannot occur with one hand. And I've burnt my forehead twice with my straightener. I'm awesome.

3. Cleaning. Not that I actually enjoy cleaning ever anyway, but it becomes even more of a pain in the ass when you've only got one hand that can actually grasp stuff. Carrying clothes basket? Nay. Folding clothes? Not a chance. Working the dustpan and broom together to sweep my floor? I suspect it's pretty comedic to watch. Someone should film.

2. Sleeping. I am a deep sleeper, but I also move aorund a ton. As a result, I have rolled over and bashed myself in the arm and/or face with my cast. Also, my wrist aches like a motherbitch a lot at night, making it hard to sleep. Rock on, broken scaphoid, rock on.

Annnnnndddd finally:
1. Playing video games. So it turns out you actually need both your thumbs to play video games. Including Super Mario Bros Wii. And Wii boxing. And Guitar Hero. I'm already pro (literally) at Wii Baseball and Tennis...I'm running out of things to play.


Honourable mention goes out to scratching hard-to-reach itches, including those that happen underneath the cast. Apparently you're not supposed to stick stuff down your cast to reach those itches--who knew?!

While my list seems bitter (okay, it is a little bitter), I hope you managed to get a chuckle or two out of it. And if you didn't...come watch me try and accomplish any of those tasks. I can guarantee you'll get yourself a laugh then!!

Thanks to my dear friend Lee, who helped me out big time this weekend and was the inspiration for this here blog post.
Til next time, pals, I leave you with this vision of my lovely, construction-cone coloured, casted broken arm, and how I really feel about it:

Take care, blogosphere. Stay alert, stay safe (and in one piece!!)

you don't wanna be here in the future, so you say the present's just a pleasant interruption to the past

Oh man

I've been MIA for exactly a month.

I feel terrible, but I have legitimately good reasons, blogosphere. They include such exciting things as working a week of 5:30 am start-time kitchen shifts (which were, as you may suspect, pretty terrible); having someone in my building *attempt* to break into my place (but they didn't, and they've been dealt with, and I'm totally fine); getting into a minor, albeit also scary, fender bender with my beloved Mia the Kia (she's okay, just a little bent license plate) and breaking my left wrist in one of the stupidest, and klutziest incidents of my life (I was late for work, wiped out in my kitchen and am now willing my left scaphoid to heeeeaaaalll).

Of course, I make it sound like I've spent a month having an awful time, but that isn't true. With the bad always comes the good, and in that month I've had a lot of good- meals with friends, nights at my favourite bars, "Charlie Sheen" weekend with some of my favourite people in the entire world, drinks and laughs and dancing...All the important stuff.

It really makes the whole 'bad' crap seem like it hardly exists--which is awe-some.

So in short, I've been off living life. I gotta say, I really think the first month-ish of 2011 has seen me fail some of my resolutions (broken wrists are hardly taking better care of myself, after all), but really, really rock some of the others: in particular, the whole appreciating everything I have thing.

As a result, I just want to say thanks. Those of you who worried for me, with me, and about me. Those of you who made me laugh, made me feel better when I cried, who kept me fed and helped me with my dishes, and drove six hours to see me and drink with me, and those of you who just consistently check in. Without you, I'd have probably just curled up in bed after the break in attempt and called 2011 another waste. But it's not...and I love you all so, so much.

Let's just hope that the remainder of the year has a few less accidents- car, kitchen and otherwise.

Til next time, blogosphere.

your voice was the soundtrack of my summer

"Well, I don't tell you everything"
"...What?! You don't tell me everything?"

Those could have been throw-a-way lines in the screenplay that is our life. They could have been something I said just to screw with your continual need to know everything I do and everyone I know, everything I think and everything I am. (This sounds derisive, but it isn't--your need to know everything makes me feel loved).

They could have been.

But they weren't. They aren't. I can't get them out of my head.

They're stuck there, on replay.

I don't tell you everything, because I can't tell you everything. And I know you're going to want to ask questions- but don't. Isn't it time we both learned to leave well enough alone?

And besides, everyone's entitled to their secrets.

every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

Told you my song lyric post title for the new year's resolution business was going to be kick-ass. And so you're aware, contrary to popular societal belief "Closing Time" isn't by Third Eye Blind: it's by Semisonic. (I make this distinction because of a trailer I watched recently for some new Justin Timberlake movie about him banging his best friend and thinking there couldn't be complications--he mistakes the artists. And I'm too lazy to Google anymore details for this, so if you have gotten through this ramble/if you care--hit up Google).

Anyway.

Welcome 2011!

I hope y'all had a most fantastic NYE. I was one lucky woman this year. I had a wicked awesome New Year's. There was alcohol, there was laughter, there was hugs and dancing and food and Rockband and a whole bunch of my favourite people in the world (not all, but a lot of 'em). There was sharing and reminiscing, looking forward and toasting and counting down over a computer clock because I still don't have cable. There were Youtube videos and plans for "Bad Porn Sundays" and tubing adventures, and cookies and fireworks, and early or delayed New Year's texts about kisses and hugs and best wishes for the new year. It was a kick-ass way to welcome 2011, and I only hope that everyone had as much fun (and got to see their favourite people too--unless you didn't get to see me, then I apologize...hahaha. I kid. Mostly.)

It feels good to be on the precipice of something new and different, yet strangely the same. It's just another day, it's just another year, it's really not a big deal--and yet it is. It gives us the chance for renewal, to start over, to look back at a pre-determined packet of time in which we lived, see our successes, see our failures, see where we want to change and what we want to improve.

I spent an entire post rambling about all that was good and bad about 2010, and now that it's over, I kind of want to spend another post rambling, this time about the things I want to do with 2011. You lucky bums who bother to read my rambles get to hear them. Excited? I'll bet you are. :P

So without further ado, my resolutions, which, I will not list but will simply write in normal paragraph form because there's few of them and they're complicated.

This year, I'm going to take better care of myself. I know this is probably something everyone vows, but in all seriousness, I get my ass so busy working or helping other people (or in 2010, in school) that I forget about me. So this year, I'm eating better, actually hauling my ass to a gym, sleeping like a normal person, taking my vitamins--all the things I need to do so as not to be ill for ninety percent of the year, mentally and physically.

And on that note, this year I'm going to be braver. That's right: I'm going to keep grabbing the bull by the horns, so to speak, and doing that whole carpe diem thing. It's been working out so far for me with the 'life transformation', but I'm still missing key elements. I took a big leap moving without a plan. Now I need to take bigger leaps--confess things, take risks in relationships...and maybe jump out of a plane. Okay, not the last one--but the first two terrify the hell out of me, so they're basically equivocal anyway. I will be brave, I will take risks...I will stop talking myself out of things.

This year, I'm going to keep up with the writing. In fact, I'm going to write something every day: a poem, a thought, a sentence, a blog post. Anything to keep me going with it, because to lose it again would be to lose the rediscovered creative part of me that makes me who I am. Never again.

And, finalement: This year, I'm going to appreciate what I have, and who I have. I'm going to love the hell out of my friends and my family, and they're going to know it. I'm going to keep perspective. I'm going to laugh more (I lost some of that in 2010- stupid me, because laughing is who I am). I'm going to dance like no one's watching (and if it's in my apartment, no one had better be watching anyway!). I'm going to sing like no one can hear me. I'm going to get my tattoo. I'm going to laugh and love and live--I'm going to remember that there are people in the world worse off than I. I'm going to reconnect with my sisters from other misters. I'm going to roll with the punches (which better be less painful this year--you listenin, 2011?). I'm going to deal with things, and be there for people and ask for help when I need it--or at least, I'm gonna try.

Above all, I'm going to be me- whosoever she happens to be. I'm going to let myself change and evolve, but I'm going to stay true to who I am and what I believe. I'm going to take this clean slate and scribble my Jmartness all over the damn thing.

I hope you all do the same. Squeeze every second you can out of 2011- 'cause you just never know how many of them you have left.

Best wishes for the new year, friends.

Lookin' forward to y'all suffering through more of my rambling <3
And thanks for being there. For everything.