I miss the days when I had the urge to write. I looked through a bunch of my old notebooks today, looking for some poems that might be good (turns out there were only two, the rest were... super depressing or, well super depressing), and I realized I wrote a lot in high school.

Granted, I was well... super depressed and had a reason. But that's not the point. >_>

Anyway. I love having a journal. I've got some really nice ones too. I always say to myself "Jessi, you're going to start writing daily in your journals again." But I forget. Sigh.

Now you're thinking "But you're writing on a blog, albeit irregularly, but isn't it the same?" No, you e-crackhead. It's not. You can't replace the sheer act of putting pen (or pencil, if you really like smudged fake lead and faster fading) to paper. You can't replace going back and looking at how your handwriting changes from day to day based on what you're feeling when you write. You can't replace the feel of paper under the side of your hand, the sound it makes as you form words. You can't write in your e-journal when the power is out and your laptop is dead. You can't see when you changed your mind about a sentence, a phrase, a word, and scratched out or erased it. There's just something about physically seeing chapters of your life in a bound stack of papers that makes you feel a sense of accomplishment. I can't really seem to get that out of a list of entry titles in a blog... e-journal... whatever you want to call it.

Plus, there's the added sense of security that comes with refraining from posting shit on the internet. Because well, we all know there's no such thing as privacy on the internet. What, someone told you different? They're an idiot, get new friends.

So, I propose to myself a new (late) years resolution: Daily journal entries. Even if they're one sentence. I could stand to write by hand more often anyway... you should see the notes I take during classes. My handwriting has gotten pretty shotty over the past three years, and it really wasn't that great to begin with.

Well hey, this blog has some use after all! Problem solver extraordinaire.

And no, you will not be seeing my hard copy journal entries. Dream on.

painful nostalgia.

It's so strange to look down at the scars on my arms. I almost have this weird out of body experience, like I'm looking at something someone else did. But at the same time I know they're mine, because I remember them all. I don't necessarily remember when, but I remember doing them. It's weird thinking back on the person I was at that time. I was so different. So hopeless.

Sometimes I wonder if given the option, I would choose to fade the scars, you know with those creams and stuff you can get at the drug store. Thinking about it now I don't think I would. They remind me of how low you can go and still get back up. You're never really lost. Even when you think you are, there's always some sign that puts you back on the right path out of all that darkness. Getting rid of them would be like trying to forget, and forgetting our past is how we repeat it, especially the mistakes we made.

I know there have been people in my past who've seen my scars and shied away from me because of them. I know there will be people like that in my future. But there have also been those who haven't in the past, and there will be those who won't in the future. Many people who are in my shoes hide their scars, but I don't. They're part of me, part of my past. It's a subject that will have to come up someday, in the course of friendship. If they can hack it, they're gaining a great friend. If not, it's their loss. I used to hide who I was, but I don't anymore. Life is to short to let a few scarred skin cells get me down.

my darkestwish

This feeling transcends all physical desires;
you are my darkest wish,
so secret yet screaming to be fulfilled...
so close but so far out of reach,
though I swear I can feel each furtive glance,
your gentle touch like fire on my skin;
in this moment of bittersweet longing I feel sadness and joy and despair and ecstasy all at once,
nearly tearing me in two.

A Rant.

Why are people so selfish? Seriously, ever damned time I get into some kind of political argument about socialism, the same line comes up: "It's mine I earned it." What ever happened to sharing, to helping people who are down? I mean, how goddam heartless can you be, for frak's sake?

Because really, that's what it's all about. Helping your fellow man. Yeah, I understand the whole "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" thing, I get that. To some degree I agree with it. My mom, for instance, sunk to the lowest of lows for a while when we were with my dad. She pulled us out of it and now we're doing pretty well. But sometimes it's just not possible. Some people are, in my opinion, unlucky. Some people don't have support from their friends and family. Some people are born poor and are never shown that they can live a better life, one that's safe and caring. I firmly believe that's part of the cause for all the rampant crime today. People steal out of need, out of fear, kill to survive in places like the Bronx and Chicago. They make a living in the only ways they know how, whether it be through drugs, sex, theft, etc, because no one cares enough to help those people, to stop the cycle of violence they're all caught in. Why is it such a bad thing to give a little of your money to a cause that can help fix this world? Granted, our government is corrupt and of course doesn't always use our taxes for what they're intended, but that's a whole different discussion. What I'm saying is, socialist programs aren't all bad. Of course we need to reevaluate the ones we have now, throw out the freeloaders who have the ability to get by, but people need help still.

We crusade around the world trying to help people in need, spreading our democracy to places deemed backwards in their practices. But we forget about our own people, our own country. You can't fix others if you don't first fix yourself and your own problems.

That was not the best written but it is a rant, something that's been bugging me lately. Enjoy.

New Name for the Blog!

I renamed my blog, as you can see. It's called "Belisama", after a Celtic goddess of lakes and rivers, fire, crafts and light. Here's the wiki article in case you care to look:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Belisama

Question: Can she do the impossible?

Answer: Are you fucking kidding me? (Yeah that was actually a question to answer the question... screw off it's my blog.) Here's the scoop: I'm talking a summer course to make up for some classes I didn't do well in the past couple years, and to catch up. I emailed the prof about a month before class started and asked "Do I need any books for this class?", naturally so I could be prepared and order them off Amazon to have them in time (protip: Amazon is cheaper than buying books at your campus bookstore, kids.). So anyway, he emails me back and says, "No books to buy! It's all online. "See you" online later in the summer." I thought hey that's awesome. Three days before class started, however, I get an email, and lo and behold it tells us what books we need to get. Apparently he thought I meant another class. I didn't know he was teaching more than one. So here I am, ordering books, freaking the fuck out because I know they wouldn't get there for a week, at least. The books came this past week, on Monday, and I'm a week behind. Just my luck, I became very sick this past weekend and it carried on til about Wednesday, plus my job is crazy time consuming and I have had no time to really catch up the way I want. On top of that, I seem to be a slow reader. So, basically, I'm fucked. and next week, I don't have any off time at all, from about 7am to around 11.30pm I'm sitting here venting before I dive into history and temporarily lose connection with present day civilization. It doesn't help that my mom can never seem to find an ounce of sympathy, especially since this whole thing is the goddam professor's fault. This was supposed to be an easy A, a good way to boost my GPA and knock out some requirements for my major... So I'm disconnecting now, have a good weekend everyone... I know I won't be.

Did I mention it's my birthday on Sunday? -_- FML.

Lost Dreams

Where does this road lead?
I hope it leads to you.
Be this not so I'll leave this path,
And make one straight and true.

Will I wonder what lay behind?
Time is a fickle fiend.
I fear I will not have the time,
To ponder those lost dreams.

For what lay ahead is where my life lays.
On this path my heart leads me.
And I will follow it for as long as I have days.

Introductions

So. I'm bored, so I'm starting a blog. I'll prolly write here when I'm bored.

Yep that's it for introductions. Welcome to my blog, these days of mine.