When will we learn to act like adults?

College has been an amazing experience. I've grown to befriend some amazing like-minded people who are mature and understand the changes that I'm going through in my life. They also understand that I don't take anyone's shit. If you act like a complete child around me all the time, chances are, you won't be my friend. Or, better yet, if you treat me like a child, you're even worse off.

Something happened recently with friends from high school. I went over to one of their homes, they were having a campfire, and proceeded to pretty much ignore me for most of the night. Instead, they talked to each other (not even including me in their conversations) about work and a vacation that they're going on.

Now, generally, not a big deal. Except, this time, I was invited on that trip, and I had to turn them down. When I was asked if I wanted to go, I would have needed over $700 for airfare, but the rest would have been taken care of.

Crazy, right?

They expected me to have my mind made up and my tickets bought within two weeks of telling me.

Um. How is that being responsible? I'm getting a new car in the fall. I have to make car payments, and put a significant amount of money down on it to get the payments that I want. I also have three jobs. You expect me to tell all my bosses, two weeks in advance, that I'm going to be hightailing it out of there for a whole week? Not to mention, when I was asked, I was already on a week long vacation in Maine?

Again, where's the responsibility in that?

Now, I made up my mind about the trip when I was in Maine. I wasn't going to go, thanks for asking, but it's just really bad timing.

But one of them actually had the balls to say to me, at the campfire, "Sam, I wish I had known . . . I would have subsidized your ticket."


First of all. I don't need fucking handouts. Never have, never will. Especially not for something as frivolous as that shit. I'd rather spend $3,000 of my own hard earned money to go back to Florence then to have you subsidize my ticket for a week long trip.

Secondly, how dare you talk to me about money when your parents kicked you out for FAILING out of college. Did you forget that we were there to pick you back up, and try to turn you the fuck around when your life was nothing but a giant, massive hole of shit? So you've got three jobs now too. Big. Fuckin'. Whoop. No sympathy here.

I have my priorities set. I have my goals, and if you don't fit into them because you're acting like an ass, then you're not going to be a part of my life anymore.

I spent that entire fucking campfire talking to my other friend's brother. And playing with their dog. Nice, right? All because they were so wrapped up in their own little "Why can't we just fuck each other, get it over with, and life will be good?" world.

The last thing I have to say  is this: when I offer to do something with you, it doesn't work out, but then something magically makes it work out again after I've already set my plans . . . why the hell do you think I'm going to bend what my plans already are when you didn't even ask if it was still okay? Especially when the event is a week away? And then you proceed to be mad at me? All because I tell you that it might not work out the way we were planning on it working more than a month ago?

Maybe if it were three weeks ago, sure. But not now. Have your temper tantrum, act like a five year old and ignore me, that's totally fine.

It just means that I'm done. I'm not playing these stupid games anymore. I'm done being treated like a child when you're still children yourselves.

Some people infuriate me.

Life is a shitstorm.

Pretty much. It's up. Its down. It's round and round. It's stressful. It's enlightening. It's curious. It's insanity. It's revelations.

I always have periods in my life where things just seem out of control, if you can't tell by my last few posts. The thing is, I'm not an angry person. I'm a lover. What happens in this blog is generally where I let myself explode before I explode at someone else, and when all is said and written, I look at it, read it, realize that everything will be okay, and move forward.

Lately, things have been calm. In a sorta stress inducing calm. Life has slowed down a bit, while still keeping it's steam-engined pace, accelerating faster than I have time to think. Summer is flying by, but luckily, I still have two whole months to enjoy the sun, bathe in beautiful ocean waters, and live it up.

I'm not worried though. Things are slowly falling into place. It's been a summer of learning, hoping, praying, adventuring, reflecting and renewing.

So, for once, here's a happy blog update, rather than a rant filled one. :)

And all at once, they come surging in.

Emotions.

Fickle little fuckers, aren't they?

See. I've got this thing. This problem. I build walls. Huge walls. I have walls my friends and family don't even realize are there. And why do I have these walls? I've got issues, why the hell else? Not gonna lie, I'm a little screwy. Been through some shit, and some more shit, and yeah, it's help me grow as a human, but it also forced me to build these walls.

Now. Occasionally, someone comes along, and somehow, that someone cracks the codes and gets in. They seem intrigued by the mess that is me, and they care to take a gander. Well. See. The problem is, they don't end up liking what they find, and they high tail it out of here. For some reason or another.

So what happens? Vacuum effect.

They leave this gaping hole, and everything that I was trying to keep out comes rushing in, like I'm some fresh kill that needs to be devoured.

And I know what we're all thinking. "Oh, little Miss Drama. Seriously? More of this emo bullshit?" I'm sorry that this is the only place I feel I can vent like this without being coddled or hurt again, so suck it, and if you don't like what you see, then eff off.

I don't like babying myself. I have this habit of reverting back to my five year old instincts of run to mommy, ask her to kiss it better and everything will be okay. Italy taught me that I can't do that. At the same time though, I don't always know how to deal with emotions. Happiness, I get. Elation, I get. Anger, I get.

There's a lot of grey area though. Sadness. That's big one. That one always takes a while to sink in. Regret. Fuck, that takes months. Safety. I don't even remember how long that takes. Sometimes minutes. Sometimes never.

Anywho. Rambling. It happens when I'm upset.

Basically, I let someone in. Or rather, they got in. I didn't exactly let them in. Honestly, I don't even know how it happened. I never do.

And the horrible part? I can feel them spinning on their heel, getting ready to run.

I thought I had built enough walls to protect myself from this shit, but apparently I didn't build them strong enough. And honestly, I don't know how much more of this shit I can take.

I'm gonna go clean now.

Bitch Fest, 2011.

I figured I might as well write this blog before heading over to my weight loss blog and posting there. Because on that front, things are going extremely well.

Anywho.

So. Why is it Bitch Fest 2011? Why else would it be. I mean, I didn't wake up this morning to find out that a lot of the hard work I put into make a brochure needed to be changed (yay). I didn't have to pay off a traffic ticket this morning, for $110 (yay). Did I mention that that traffic ticket was pretty much one week's pay for my second job? (again, yay). Oh, and possibly going to Toronto this weekend. Now, what's the downside of that? Oh, I don't know, the fact that I have no money, and we're basically going for hockey (and going for hockey generally requires you to actually enjoy the sport).

I don't know man. Do you ever just feel like you need to strangle something to make things better? It happens to me, rarely, but it happens.

Things have been kinda crazy around these parts. Three jobs. Potential boy who I can't even tell if he's remotely interested . . .

And on that note. I know. I shouldn't be so willing to hold out for him unless he's willing to make an effort . . . but he kinda does. Kinda. You'd have to meet him to understand. He's kinda awesome. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a fruitcake, but we're taking it in strides.

Ugh. Typically, in my AIM/Facebook conversations, this is where I just slam on the keys out of frustration. Looks a little something like this: "ajwe;fiosr;ghadiosfhao;sdiz;sidhEFU:guwersgo;diafhsdifh;w."

Normally, my roomie loves finding actual words in those outbursts, but I don't think she'll find any in that one. Hahaha.

Love how venting cleanses the soul. Still wanna kick something though. Maybe, tonight, I'll do something useful with my aggression, like go out and rip some weeds from the ground. Maybe. We'll have to see if this lingering ick sticks around all day.

We'll see.

The Insanity of Post-Italian Life.

I can't breathe.

I don't eat right. I don't sleep right, I'm on a mission to get my Italian figure back, and my world is turned so topsy-turvy, I'm honestly wondering if it will ever be all right again. I've honestly had to sit back and stop myself from saying "I have to go back, I have to get back on a plane, only being there will fix things."

In some respects, I feel like it's true, in some, I feel like it will only hurt me even further.

I only have a year left of schooling. I know that if I went abroad again, I'd be stuck in school for another 2. I'd take classes that I'd want to take, sure, but I wouldn't be doing the right things to just get me out of college, and get me paying back the ever increasing bill. 

I have two jobs now. One with my school's library, one with my school's food service. And even though I have those two jobs, it's never enough. I'm fighting every day to pay for things. That ticket that I got back in June? Yeah. 175 smackaroonies. Because I had no money when I came back from Italy, dad had to foot a lot of my school supplies. I currently owe him, probably close to $600. I owe him insurance money, I owe him money for clothes that mom bought for me, because Italy practically destroyed all of my clothes. I owe so much to so many people, I'm never going to catch up.

It's been three and a half months since I got back, and I can't do anything right. Except paint. Somehow, that's really workin' out for me. Aside from that though, I feel like my grades are in the shitter, my life is being dictated by how much money I owe people, and I never have time to just sit, relax, and spend time with the ones I love.

I had a boyfriend. In the three months I've been back. He was great. We never talked, but we did lots of stuff together. Even when I was spending time with him, I was trying to spend time with everyone else. Eventually, I had to come to the realization that we weren't compatible because we never really talked to each other, and our future plans didn't line up. All because I didn't take the time to actually get to know him. I was so worried about keeping him in my life, keeping my best friend in the loop, and making my family happy that I couldn't even get to know the man who told me he loved me. Real nice, right?

Summer is two weeks away. Summer consists of (again) working my ass off. However, summer doesn't include school. I'm so beyond ready for it all to be done so I just have a moment to catch up again. I have projects that I want to work on, paintings I want to do, drawings I want to finish, people I want to photograph, people I want to pay back, family I want to go visit, and places I want to see. 

And damnit, I'm going to do it. All of it. And I'll be damned if anybody tries to fucking stop me. I've been there, bitch. I've tasted my freedom, and it was stolen from me as quickly as it was given to me. I went from being free, to being just like every other sucker who has to work for the man. I told myself I wasn't going back to that, but I still had to. Fuck America. Europe is so much better. 

Sure, our government is better, and it really isn't that bad, but I was just so damn happy, and all of a sudden, that huge light that was glowing inside of me fizzled out. There isn't even a friggin' pilot light that's just waiting for me to turn the gas back on. I have to get a lighter back out and relight everything. I have to find myself again, and I have to get back to where I was. That's what I'm doing this summer. I was someone over in Italy. I was amazing in Italy. I had it all. I was poor as a piece of concrete, but I had the life. 

I told the world to be prepared for the girl who was going to scream out her confidence when she got back, and damnit, I'm doing that this summer. I've got my own agenda. If you want to join me, that's great, but I'm done answering to the man. It's my life. I'm running this joint, and fuck you if you think you're gonna stop me. I don't even know who the hell you are, but I won't let you drag me down. I will travel this summer. I will create this summer, and I will love this summer. 

I'm going to work my ass off to get me back to where I was. 

Take that, social America. Wanna try to pull me down, and make me another drone? Watch me trample your ass. I'm done. 

So much to do, so little time.

We're down to the final stretch in this grand Italian adventure . . . I've been here for almost three and a half months, and I only have fifteen days left. At first, I felt really bad about not blogging about my experiences, seeing as my roommate has been religiously updating hers. After a few moments though, I realized that no matter what happens, the things that I've experienced in this time and place were for me, just as blogging is. Now has come a time, however, when I feel it's right to blog. Not out of necessity for those readers who happen to be perusing the internet, but for me.

These past three months have been everything for me. So much so that I'm honestly not even sure how I feel about going back home. Well. Not true. I know pretty damn well. I'm terrified, I'm excited, I'm depressed, I'm relieved, I'm torn. Absolutely torn.

I want to go back, I want to leave my immature, obnoxious roommates behind and live my life without them. I'm excited to see my family, I know I'm going to cry once I land in the airport. My mother doesn't even look like herself anymore, she's lost so much weight (I'm really proud of her for that). I miss my dog. So much. I keep seeing dogs around Florence, running around all happy, and then I'll have a Skype date with my mother, and my pathetic 7 pound poodle will be sitting there, not sure where my voice is coming from, but perking up every time he hears me call him "Boober." I miss my dad. I miss my sister. I miss my mother, but I'm terrified of what's going to happen when I get back home.

I'm terrified of being stuck. I'm terrified of reverting back to the same clamshell that I was. I'm terrified I'm going to be content with where I am, that I won't want to be out and about, I'll just want to stay at home and do nothing. I'm still terrified that I'm not going to be outgoing enough to make the first move, to say hello, and put myself out there.

You know. I was hit on. Several times by many different men of many different ages. I even had a drink bought for me. Granted, he was old and kinda a creeper, but if I could get a free Bulmer's out of him, I was just gonna go with it until I was done drinking said Bulmer's and then peace out.

My point? Something clearly has changed in me. I don't know if it's physical, or mental or what, but something's changed, and I know that if I put myself out there, something can happen.

And as much as it pains me to think about my fears of going back home, I'm excited at the same time to show the States what I've become. I know I've grown. I know I've changed, and I can't wait to show everyone who I am.

I've never been so confident in myself as an artist. People can say they love your work time and time again, and that's all good. But when you can stand in a room full of other artists and actually say "Wow. This is something" . . . It's a good feeling. I nailed this last assignment. I can draw. I can paint. And if I do say so myself, I'm pretty damn good at it. I may never sell a painting in my entire life, but the point is, I know I have the ability to create good work. And this? This has only made me more excited to go back home and work on the thousands of ideas that I've been keeping bottled up this entire semester, not to mention finish projects that I have at home. My art, just like blogging, is for me. When I start working, sure, there will be compromises and comissions, but when it comes down to it, I will always find time for myself and my art, because that is how it should be.

I've also never realized how important music is in my life. I've always talked about how I can't live without music, but I never really understood that feeling until these past three months. For this entire time, I was without a piano. I came across one once and was able to play . . . it was one of the most heavenly feelings in this entire world. I can't play worth crap. It takes me months to figure out one decent length song and I get frustrated every single time I try and try to get something right. I never realized however, how much of a stress reliever that was for me. How soothing and therapeutic. Almost as therapeutic as putting a pencil to paper and just letting the images flow. I'm dying to get back home to my piano, so I can sit at that old organ bench and annoy the crap out of my parents with my thumping and inability to hear them while I have my headphones plugged in.

The piano though is only one part of it. The director of the art program came up to me one day and asked me what the meaning of my final project was. Honestly, I had no clue. I managed to whip out some bullshit answer that made sense and made her look good in front of the tour group she had with her, but in my explanation, I told her about how art isn't really about the meaning for me. And I know that's a horrible thing to say for an artist, but I'm not going to sit here and lie to people. When I draw, I honestly don't know the meaning behind it. Rarely do I ever draw with the intent to make my viewers feel something specific, or have some underlying drama that I feel I need to share. Normally what ends up happening is I'll hear something. Normally it's a song. And normally, what ends up happening is I see something. It could be for a split second, or it could last, and play out like a mini-movie in my mind . . . almost like someone put a transparent movie screen over my eyes. Sometimes, it flits by and the next thought enters my head like some crazy attention deficit child who can't keep anything straight.

And then sometimes? Sometimes it's stuck. Sometimes it's for an hour. Sometimes it's for a day. Sometimes, it's for weeks, almost as it it's burned into my cerebellum. It's those images that normally make it to paper. The ones that burn themselves so deeply that I literally cannot think, cannot sleep until I've gotten them down. And what's the meaning behind that? I have no clue. If anyone wants to analyze it, feel free.

Again though, the point is, I don't know. I don't know if I want to know. What's the fun in life if everything is figured out? I already have so much of that done, why do I need to have that figured out?

That's the other thing I've realized. Not only that I'm an exeptional artist, or that music plays a much bigger part in my life that I ever realized, but also that so many people waste time planning out the next fifty years of their lives that they don't take time to live in the moment.

Do not get me wrong. I most certainly am one of those people, but it's one of the things that I'm still gradually working on changing. Not everything has to be figured out. I don't have to know where I want to live when I'm done with college. I don't have to know what I want to do with my life after school. So long as I can support myself, get by, live a happy life and not be a burden on people, why does it matter? I have dreams, aspirations, but they have nothing to do with knowing what I want to do. Will I work as hard as I can to achieve them? Hell yes! Will I think before throwing my life down a completely different path? Of course I will, I'm not stupid. What I won't do, however, is let those dreams and aspirations plan out the next 40 years of my life. I'm still young. I want to live in the here and now too while I still have the chance.

I feel like I had so many more revelations (and I know I have), but it's currently 2:08 in the morning, and my poor brain is shot to shit.

So, basically, shorthand? I don't know what's going on with my life right now. I'm ready to go, but at the same time, I'm not. I suppose I'll just have to start looking forward to the next adventure.

. . . Anyone wanna teach me Japanese?

Two decades, nearly gone.

Oh, what do you do when it's mid-term week, and you should be sleeping/working on other things? Yeah. That's right. Like me, you decide to randomly update your blog. Mhm. At almost 2 in the morning.

So what's been on my mind lately? Aside from loving traveling, stressing about school and stressing about having to leave this beautiful place in a month and a half?

Love.

Love between friends. Love between families. Love between two complete strangers.

I've been in love. I know I have. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm one of the few people who have had a taste of all aspects of love, without them being in the same case. I've had the best friend who loved dates and spending time with me. I've had the person who couldn't wait to hear from me, wishing for the next time we could talk. I've had the man who worshiped my body, who brought me to new levels of conciousness that I didn't even know where there. I've had the unconditional love, we didn't care what people said, we wanted to be together. Love has no boundaries. Skin color, weight, appearances, love is love. Love really is blind.

I keep trying to accidentally stumble into love. I keep trying to find it, but all in the wrong places. Again, I thought I had chanced upon something special, but now I'm so unsure. Not because I'm skeptical of the person who I found interesting, but because I never know if I'm saying the right things.

Being me . . . it's not easy. Everyone says that, I'm sure. With me though, there's many catches. I'm the girl who likes to go to concerts and scream my head off because I know every damn word that's being sung. I'm the girl who likes to snuggle in bed with a cup of tea/coffee and a good book. I'm the girl who loves going hiking in the wilderness for no reason other than to get some fresh air and pay my respects to the natural beauty that is constantly overlooked. I'm that girl who sits in front of her computer for hours so she can play a video game. I'm that girl who, when nobody's looking, watches japanese cartoons at 2 in the morning, just because she wants to.

I've always gotten the feeling that I'm too strange. Too diverse. They say that being open to new things is good in a person, makes them easy to get along with and such. Is there a possibility though that someone can be too open though? Does that happen?

I want to fall in love. Head over heels in love. I want to be so smitten with my man, and have him be so smitten with me that when we're in the same room, we literally can't see anyone else but each other. I know for a fact that it exists. It's rare, but it exists. I'm also no fool. I know that people try to get married these days, and end up splitting halfway down the road for different reasons. Divorce rates are out the roof these days, and I'm terrified that I'm going to be one of those people who succumb to the growing numbers. Either that, or I'm going to be one of those women who just never gets married.

I know I've already had these fears, and expressed these fears once before, but they're still there. Even after I've been here for a month in a half. I still haven't found my Italian romance, though I've had my fair share of grope-age. Hahaha. There's plenty a beautiful man here, but I also know that I can't exactly take them with me when I leave, so why get super attatched? It's hard, being in such romantic places and not having that someone to share it with.

Two decades old in a week. I can't believe I'm going to be 20.

So much has happened, even in such a small amount of time. I've changed. I know I have. I can feel it.

I may not be as confident as I was planning on being, but I've been putting my neck out there, pushing myself to say things, to try and be more outgoing. It's a slow process, and as they say, Rome wasn't built in a day. It's going to take me a while to get to the point where I can willingly walk up to anyone, say hi and be completely comfortable with the fact that I just introduced myself to a complete stranger, but I'm trying.

Even bigger than that though, I've accomplished one of the key goals I set out to do. I haven't forgotten you, per say, because I don't think I'll ever will. You meant a lot to me. I have, however, stopped missing you. I've stopped wondering why you never gave me the chance. I've stopped clinging on to the concept of you. It's true, that I'm lonely, and I miss being in love, but not with you. To say any more would be stretching the topic further than it needs to go, but I'm done. I'm finally finished with you, and I couldn't feel any more free if I tried.

My best friend is online right now. I'm officially giving her my undivided attention, because she's worth it, and she deserves it. Then . . . potentially some meditation.

<3