I didn't know my heart could hurt like this.

Inevitable

Do you remember when we were just kids
And cardboard boxes took us miles from what we would miss
Schoolyard conversations taken to heart
And laughter took the place of everything we knew we were not

I wanna break every clock
The hands of time could never move again
We could stay in this moment (stay in this moment)
For the rest of our lives
Is it over now hey, hey, is it over now

I wanna be your last, first kiss
That you'll ever have
I wanna be your last, first kiss

Amazing how life turns out the way that it does
We end up hurting the worst, the only ones we really love

I wanna break every clock
The hands of time could never move again
We could stay in this moment (stay in this moment)
For the rest of our lives
Is it over now hey, hey, is it over now

I wanna be your last, first kiss
That you'll ever have
I wanna be your last, first kiss

Is it over now hey, hey, is it over now
Is it over how hey, hey, it's not over now

I wanna be your last, first kiss
That you'll ever have (that you'll ever have)
I wanna be your last, first love (that you'll ever have)
Till you're lying here beside me with arms and eyes open wide
I wanna be your last, first kiss for all time

Anberlin

Nobody wants a Miss Crankypants

I was reminded recently that I haven't posted on here in ages.

It's true.

It's not a good sign when two of your last four posts talk about how long it's been since you last posted.

Tonight I'm thinking.

I've spent my whole life stubborn.

Independent.

Snarky.

Sassy.

But I'm starting to realize....

It's not really working for me.

Tonight it was pointed out to me.

I hated hearing it.

I always hate hearing it.

I hate that this time, I might have lost something because of it.

Something tangible, measurable.

Snap.

It's hard to face this reality.

I'm not sure who I am without my attitude.

I've had it so long.

But it's really not working for me.

I'm finding that I'm just making people mad.

I'm hurting people.

Disrespecting people.

And then demanding their respect.

Gross.

I don't want to be Oscar the Grouch.

Nobody really liked him.

Sure, you might have had a soft spot for him.

But the dude lived in a trash can.

And had no friends.

No bueno.

I'd rather be a Care Bear.

They're sweet as pie.

And live in clouds.

Surrounded by other Care Bears.

I just looked up Care Bears on Wikipedia.

And found out that there was a Grumpy Bear.

I don't remember him.

Probably because he was grumpy.

Punk.

I'd rather be Wish Bear.

So full of hope.

And wearing a yellow raincoat.

And looking through a star-shaped telescope.

Operation: Yellow Raincoat has begun.

Matt Wertz writes good songs.

Don't Come Easy

Today is gonna be the day
I'll find the words I need to say
Cause there ain't any other way
To tell you how I'm feeling

This is where I've always turned
Retreated so I don't get burned
And now with these lessons learned
I'm ready for some healin'

So tell me that you'll be my baby

We don't have to be lonely no more
And I've never ever been this for sure
And all I'm asking please
Is that you'll stay with me
When it don't come easy

I know that you're so afraid
Cause you never gave your heart away
Surviving on a little faith
Well, keep on believin'

Slide in close to me
You can trust me with anything
You is all ya gotta be
Cause babe, I'm never leavin'

So tell me that you'll be my baby

Cause we don't have to be lonely no more
And I've never ever been this for sure
And all I'm asking please
Is that you'll stay with me
When it don't come easy

Cause we don't have to be lonely no more
And I've never ever been this for sure

Cause we don't have to be lonely no more
And I've never ever been this for sure
And all I'm asking please
Is that you'll stay with me
Even baby when I dream
That you'll be with me
When it don't come easy, yeah yeah yeah
When it don't come easy, baby, huh huh
When it don't come easy, oh no no
When it don't come easy, yeah yeah yeah

Meet George

The law of the LORD is perfect, reviving the soul;

the testimony of the LORD is sure, making wise the simple;
the precepts of the LORD are right, rejoicing the heart;
the commandment of the LORD is pure, enlightening the eyes;
the fear of the LORD is clean, enduring forever;
the rules of the LORD are true, and righteous altogether.
More to be desired are they than gold, even much fine gold;
sweeter also than honey and drippings of the honeycomb.

Psalm 19:7-10

Hi.

My name is Carolyn.

This is my blog.

You haven't seen me around here much lately.

I've been busy.

I've thought about you a lot.

Really, I have.

I had so much to tell you.

Several times I even opened up this window.

Then paused.

And waited.

And closed it again.

Sometimes I struggle with words.

With ways to describe how I feel, and what's going on in my heart.

For the past few months, I haven't had the words.

I haven't even written in my paper journals.

I've neglected it all.

Simply because I didn't know what to say.

Tonight I want to tell you about my heart.

It's hurting.

Hurting for missed opportunities.

Hurting for relationships that simply cannot be right now.

Hurting because I'm still not the person I want to be.

To make a long story short, there was a boy.

It came about suddenly.

And just as suddenly, it went away.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

The worst part is knowing that something could be.

But knowing even more that it's not the right time.

And acting on what's best.

When it feels the worst.

Remember that movie?

How to lose a guy in 10 days?

Did it.

Didn't even need a love fern.

It might have technically been 11 days.

But who's counting?

Now that I'm back to me, I have an opportunity.

To change, to be better.

To explore the things I saw that I don't like.

One thing I want to do is return to the relationship I once had with God.

I've come a long way in six months.

My time in Galveston was hard.

And lonely.

And distant from my faith.

I did a lot of things I shouldn't have.

I hurt people.

I didn't like me one bit.

Austin has been good.

Good for my soul.

I'm back in community.

They love me, and I love them.

I'm bumbling my way back into faith.

I still screw up a lot.

But it's different now.

Still, it's not personal enough.

It's not real enough.

I want it to be real.

I want to live and breathe my faith.

I want to love you and everyone else around me because I simply can't help it.

Because I'm overflowing with it.

I want to give God my days and weeks and minutes and seconds.

Every part of my day and my life and my being.

I want to pray for people.

I've always been terrible at that.

I say that I will, and then I don't.

I want to really do it.

To be compelled toward it.

I want to live and to love, recklessly and faithfully.

But let all who take refuge in you rejoice;

let them ever sing for joy,

and spread your protection over them,

that those who love your name may exult in you.

Psalm 5:11

An end.

Tonight I'm sitting in the living room of my house in Galveston. I'm on the couch, like I so often have been before, but it's different.

Much of the house's contents been packed into boxes, and many of the remaining items sold or given away. Only three people, besides myself, remain here, and little more than a week stands before they, too, will leave. The house will be empty, the keys turned in, and the place I've called my escape, my sanctuary, and my home for two years will be just another house on another street in a town called Galveston.

Five months ago, I fought to leave this place, losing tears and sleep and hope over the idea that I might have to remain nearby. Yet even after I settled in to a city I love, a city that I am confident is right for me, I kept being drawn back to this dirty, beautiful island. This is the fourth trip I've made, and it was planned well in advance, with full knowledge that it would be the last.

Tonight my heart is breaking to know that my friends, who I've grown to love and hate and everything in between, won't be here waiting for me when I want to come back. They have been, and will be, tossed across the country toward jobs and families and new adventures.

Never again will I ignite the stove with a lighter because it hasn't worked properly in months, or fight the bathtub faucets for the right to shower in hot water. I'll never sit on this sofa and reminisce about that one time I had shingles and spent a week on it, stoned, because the doctor gave me vicodin. I won't ask Luke to change the light bulbs because I can't reach them, or sit out on the porch with Maggie while she smokes a cigarette and we talk about life and boys and how to decipher each. I won't jump into a living room dance party with our favorite music station blaring from the TV, or have brunch at the kitchen table, family-style, laughing about the latest stories.

Sure, I can always come back to Galveston. I'll bring friends or a boyfriend or even my kids someday. We'll go to the aquarium at Moody Gardens and play on the beach. Maybe we'll catch a movie out under the stars on the Strand, or take the ferry over to Bolivar and watch for dolphins on the way. We'll get dinner and Blue Bell and a sunburn, and we'll talk about what a great weekend it was.

But it won't ever be the same.

I think one of the hardest things about growing up is realizing that life is on a trajectory that we simply do not have the power to interfere with. Just as our lives move forward and change, so do those around us. In the last year, I helped move my parents, my friends, and myself. Friends have gotten married and had children and started new jobs and lost old ones. Nothing is as it was, and though I want to cling to some sort of normalcy, something steady and true that spans the years, it's just not there. Home and family have become relative terms, flexible enough to accommodate the current situation, yet still powerful enough to really mean something when employed.

This weekend, on top of everything else, also marks exactly two years since I packed my car and set off on this grand adventure. Yesterday was the second anniversary of my departure; Monday will be of my arrival. I can hardly believe that two years - 730 days - have passed between then and now.

It's been an incredible adventure.

Thank you, Galveston, for the memories. You'll always have a piece of my heart.

Much love from Texas,

C-Jo

Since I quit blogging about books, I have time to read them.

Reading this:

(via thefrugalista.com)

I'm inspired.

February = No Buy Month.


Anybody in?

Even with a Delorean, one can only move forward in age.

Tonight someone commented on the friends I've made in Austin, incredulous at the number I've accumulated in a relatively short time being here.

At first, I pointed out the friends with us who were from other places, whom I'd met long before. But then I realized that he was right.

I don't know why God decided that I should be so loved, but I'm grateful to Him for it. I only hope that I can return that love at every opportunity, to show others what they mean to me, to care for them and love them and return the abundance of blessings I've been given by their presence.

*****

In five days, or four if you're in the Eastern time zone, I will turn 25. Tonight I celebrated in the way to which I've grown accustomed: with a game of laser tag. What started out as a funny idea four years ago has become my favorite event of the year, a tradition that has continued with every turn of the calendar despite changes in geography and life and social circles.

I can tell you stories about every year of the tradition. Wonderful, unique stories that changed from year to year. I can tell you not everyone who attended, but many of the key people, friends who came once or year after year, but who left an impression on me that made them unforgettable.

*****

A year ago at this time, I was making a list: 25 things to do before I turned 25. I don't even have to look at it to tell you the results. There are some things I accomplished right away, some that I anguished over the thought of. There are some that came easily, and there are some that I failed miserably at, remaining tucked away in the back of my mind, waiting for me to buckle down and crank them out.

At the time that I wrote it and shared it with you, I had intended to return to it in a year, to tell you what I'd done and hadn't done. And yet the list became, in the course of the last year, during which it was alternately celebrated and ignored, intensely personal. My accomplishments, some of which happened under circumstances that I wouldn't have expected or desired, became something to hold close to my heart, not ready to be out in the open, under the glare of the sun.

 *****

On Thursday, I will be 25. I will go to bed on Wednesday night as a 24-year-old, and wake up with a new digit by which to describe myself.

It's a moment I've been dreading for months. Something about 25 makes you stop, makes you think, makes you analyze where you are in life, whether you ever expected to be in that place or not. It makes you wonder, if you're single like me, what you've done wrong that you've spent the last few years watching your friends build their white picket fences while you march into your late 20s alone. It makes you look at your bank account, your bills, your job, and your friends, and question whether you're making the right decisions with any or all of them because after all, you're not getting younger and you really ought to be thinking about these things.

Age may be just a number. But my number speaks to the wisdom of passing out of youth, to the energy that still puts a spring in my step, to the idealism held only by one who hasn't seen the worst of it quite yet, but the maturity of a person who's seen enough, and to the opportunity to make something more of what I have.

As the day approaches, I'm finding peace with that number.

*****

In five days, or four if you're in the Eastern time zone, I will turn 25. And if tonight is any indication, it's going to be a wonderful year.

Things I don't want to deal with tonight:

1) My apartment is a mess.

2) I only half put away my laundry last night, and the rest is on my chair/floor.

3) My apartment seems to be quite insect-friendly, and my bug-killing stuff is missing the instructions, which means I could either take the risk of killing both the bugs and my dog, or play it safe and deal with the buggaroos sharing my home.

4) I have cookies to bake and hats to make, but I've started neither one.

5) I have approximately 4 and 5 months, respectively, to find myself dates for Siew and my brother's weddings.

6) I have approximately 4 and 5 months, respectively, to get my ass into wonder-woman shape so that I strut in looking hott and feel less awkward about being potentially dateless for Siew and my brother's weddings.

7) There's a wooden chair in the back seat of my car that probably should be relocated to my dining room table.

8) I spend too much time making ridiculous lists and not enough doing things like dealing with the aforementioned items.