I Can't

Don't mind me as I fall asleep listening to my favorite things.

I'm just living my dreams.

Working.

So hard on other things.

I hear they matter.

That's what I'm told.

So why do I feel so worthless, knowing that I really didn't have time for that essay?  Knowing my teacher was okay with it because she knew how hard I was trying to live my dreams and realizing I needed sleep?

Still working.

So I'll doze to the sounds of the extra credit analysis written on the same poem by the girl a few rows away because she took the time to say it exactly the way I felt it but could not describe after sitting by gray walls by day and listening to elevator music and wearing gloves by evening and night.  And just because I couldn't write like that.

Living my dreams.

An exasperated, exhausted writer who can't write.

I just want to.

Let.

Go.

The Blue Girl Has Waited Long Enough

I'm sitting on the rings of Saturn with Oakley, who is texting his girlfriend.  Apparently there's great reception here.

It's so dark.

It's so bright.

Definitely a starry night.

"Serenity Blue," Oakley said, looking up from his phone, which lit up his face.  "Serenity Blue," he said, "tell me about love."

"No thanks, Oakley Johnson.  Scars."

"Isn't that the best kind of love?  The kind that scars you?"

"Does she have scars that match yours?"

"Yes!  Etched on our hearts!  They hurt--wasn't supposed to happen.  But so worth it.  You can't love without scars."

"True.  But you're in a haze.  Loving isn't worth it for everyone."

"Let me guess--"

"Yep."

And I put my hand on my chest and felt the scorching against the back of my eyelids and Oakley knew a scarlet letter lay there, scratched along my veins, yet nobody else on Earth or the moon or Saturn had an S like that anywhere within their souls.

Not an S for me.

Not for Serenity.

"No wonder you're Blue.  You love young.  You love deep.  You love Long."

"And how Long does it take for something in return?"

"Well...at least you love."




Here is a song, so listen:  Here is a Heart by Jenny Owens Young.

A Hypothetical Conversation with Howard Long

Hello my dear Howard.

And how are you today?

Oh.

That's good.

I thought you might be at least a little worse.

But that's fine.




So it doesn't sound like you miss me Howard.

Fine.  Just fine.

I don't care.  You stink anyway.




On another note...the moon.

Yep.  It's pretty romantic.

And by "romantic", I mean that it's the biggest rip-off I've ever encountered.

There's nothing special about the moon.  Nothing unique.  Bajillions of other people called dibs centuries ago.  It's taken.  Don't try to woo me over with it.  Neil Armstrong's footprints and an American flag and the sighs of the cutest couples to ever have existed make it feel so crowded in this place; there's no room for you and me here.

You have no imagination.

Honestly, the moon?

Never mind that I adore Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune like many before me.  Never mind that it has the word "moon" in the title.  IN FRENCH.

The moon is all you've got?  Even Juliet knew that the moon is too fickle for love.

No, don't say anything more about Romeo and Juliet because that comparison stinks even more than you.  Hard to picture, I realize.

Don't believe a thing that song in Mulan says about manhood, because I've seen the dark side of the moon and there is nothing mysterious about it.

Why can't you think of something better for us, like the laughs ladybugs or the geography of Jupiter?  Even that's settling.  I stayed within the galaxy.

I know!  The Milky Way!  Then we could give each other candy bars for the sake of chocolate and expressing our gushy hearts through succulent caramel.

Oh, you don't like those?  Okay.  Never mind that I do.

Huh?  I'm not being nice to you?  You have to do the settling?  Nonsense.

What's that you say?  I wore a skirt without shaving my legs last Wednesday?!

1.  Well this is awkward.
2.  You noticed?  Ew.

What's wrong with the moon you ask?

Obviously you aren't listening.  Talk to you later.

Eat Your Crust

It's kind of hot here at the core of the Earth.

And it feels a bit odd.

Like when you peel apart flower stems to see what's inside.  Because you're bored and you can.  The Earth seems like a big thing to get to the center of, but trust me, when you're soul-searching, you can do anything.

Funny thing about getting to the center of things is that the real fun's already passed by the time you're there.  All that's waiting inside is sticky white stuff, when the flower petals are on the outside.

So much for inner value.  I no longer have a reason to attempt self-esteem I guess.

All that's waiting here is sticky white stuff.  As in, a very sweaty girl whose shade of foundation is called "Porcelain".  You aren't missing much by not being here, believe me.

Stop complaining about Earth.  I'm not saying I'm homesick already, but man, you have it good up there on Earth's crust.  The mantle is hardly worth your time, and I think I've expounded enough on the core of this place.

Remember all the awkward parts in the Bill Nye videos that everybody loves?  Remember that one kid who always sat eating sandwiches with his parents and never ate his crust, and they always told him to?  His name is Richie.  You are Richie.  Don't be.

"Richie, eat your crust!"

Because the crust is great.  I always eat it first, even though I think the rest tastes better.  Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn't.  But either way, the crust is the journey.  Either way, it's good for you.

So yeah.  I like the meadows and peonies much better than this viciously hot stuff.  Do I regret the trip yet?  Nah.  We're going to the rest of the universe and beyond.  That's like the crust to the crust Earth already has.  And it's a big one.

This sticky white stuff is more than ready for a new color.  Captain told me I have galaxies in my eyes.  I really hope that when I find them, they're lime green.  If they aren't, I'll draw over them with my favorite crayon.  Maybe that's a center I could handle someday.

Sweet Home Alabama

All I really got out of Italy was a full stomach and spaghetti sauce on my face that nobody except Birdie Malone decided to point out.

Captain took us back on the ship and looked us in the eyes and said that he had always dreamed of going to Italy.

Our turn.

Anywhere WE wanted to go, we'd go.

Dang it.

Where did I want to go?  Even now, I'm still not positive.

We spent the day in Ghana and Argentina and Thailand and Denmark and Washington D.C.  We climbed a mountain in Switzerland and rode tigers in India.  Mateo Romero took one with him and hid it in his room, and I promised not to tell.  From what he said later, the tiger didn't do so well while we were scampering around England.  That was Birdie's choice.

I learned more of the crew's names by then, but kind of lost my sense of direction along the way.  Also, I was a bit frustrated.  I left my math homework at home.  Not that it really mattered.  Not that I would turn it in any time soon.  Definitely not like I wanted to do it.

But I don't like unfinished business.

Jamie wanted Florida, Persephone said Greece.  Constance led us to Zanzibar, Galileo to Hawaii.  And Jimmy...out of everywhere in the world...decided on Las Vegas.

I don't like Jimmy too much.

Oakley Johnson and I were the youngest ones there and we were up.

Dang it.

Still not sure where to go.

Why not Scotland?  That'd be grand.  More than grand.  Fine, Scotland.  Or Ireland?

But Oakley.  He had no trouble.  Bless that blasted kid.  He looked up at Captain and muttered, "Alabama, please."

"You were just in Alabama.  That's where you live," Captain said.

"Yep."

Oakley's nineteen.  He was home for the summer, but he usually lives at college and loves the isolation.  Why go back?

I must admit though, seeing him hug his mom was a bit neat.  Even though he just got up and left her again.

My turn.

"Uh...home for me too, Captain."

My mom was happy, just like Oakley's.  She didn't mind that I had to whisk myself away again after only a minute.  The fact that I wanted to be there out of anywhere else in the world at that moment must have been cooler than I thought.

I took my math homework with me this time.

And Mom gave me a PBJ.

Still not sure where I am.  It's going pretty fast.  But wherever I am, I'm here.  That's the point.  And if I'm here, I'll be everywhere.