It is strange to think I have only been back for a week. A good week though. Last Sunday I went to see Brandi Carlile with the ladies, and that show was just as amazing as the Tegan and Sara concert. And similarly, also made me want to cut off my hair, get tattoos, and be a lesbian rock star.

I worked a million hours, watched the 1st season of Dead Like Me, starting working out again, and one of the nights Celisse and Ten and I had a girls night and watched
a) The Bounty Hunter and
b) The Departed

Which I think is pretty hilarious considering the first is a chick flick, and the second is a bloody mafia movie with too many f-words to count.

I am trying to figure out what comes next, and the answers don't come to me no matter how many times I clean my room and turn on the Scentsy and make a night cap. My pillow is breaking my neck while I sleep.

But in general, things are going to turn out just fine.

I had a little nervous breakdown after creative writing class today. But instead of smoking or running away I just went bowling at the union. As Walter from the Big Lebowski would say, "Fuck it, let's roll." So I did that.
After two horrible games (lots of strikes, but not so many pins total...) I walked out of the Union and went straight past the building my next class was in, and started heading toward my car. But then about halfway there I started crying and turned around. I am not very good at skipping school anymore, no matter what kind of existential identity problems I am having mid-afternoon. Besides, I hadn't seen William in two weeks.
So I walked into class fifteen minutes late, because I am a weird girl who bowls between classes. But it was good I went, or I would have missed a quiz and a prompt for the paper we're supposed to write this week. Hmmm. William stuck his tongue out at me from across the room.
Our teacher had two Muslim girls come to class today and give the class an overview of why some Muslim women choose to wear the coverings, and tried to explain that they were not being oppressed by their husbands. They were very sweet.
At the very end, one of them said something that really hit me. She said, "At the very least there are now twenty more people in this country that will not look at us strangely when we are walking through the airport."
White people are assholes sometimes. I am an asshole sometimes.
I want to live my life with more compassion. I forget how privileged I am most days.

open up more

We never use to say the F-word in high school. At least, not much anyway, and usually not out loud. Maybe I'm kidding myself. I can imagine that maybe we did during senior year, when we were really grouchy. But certainly not by the end of my senior year, where I was taking my education into my own hands, going to CNA class, and living an army sort of lifestyle where I was waking up early each morning, drinking coffee, getting headaches, and learning about how to take care of people.

Braiker said the F-word once, in highschool, that I can remember. When we were wheeling yearbooks down the hall, and the exceedingly heavy cart rolled over her foot. She wore flip flops all year long.
"You can say it if you want, Jess."
"FUCK!" She said, and I blushed a little bit, even though I told her to say it. Somehow, I thought it was going to come out as "shit".
"Good job, Jess."

I don't know what my point is, right now. I still don't swear very much, and never at home or work, which limits my sin, to some extent. I'm just trying to remember if there ever really was a more innocent time for us. I guess.