Love: One of the three.

Hi.

You see that banner I've uploaded below the IC label that says 'Purpose for the Pain'?  Well, it's a journal by Renee Yoha and it's endorsed by To Write Love on Her Arms (twloha.com), which is an organization initiated in her name.  I haven't read it yet, but I intend to.  And although I have not yet read it, I have a pretty good idea as to what its content holds.  

We all have pain, some people in greater numbers.  And we all have our own ways of dealing with that pain.  But pain for pain's sake seems cruel and useless.  Only when you find a purpose for your pain, something that's worth all the bad, does your life take on a meaning.  If the pain is in a name or a cause or even a person then it's not pain to be regretted.  

I want that, too.  I want a purpose for my pain.  I feel all of this shit and I want it to make sense, for it to seem less cruel.  I think I need that to be able to go on.  Sometimes it just gets so hard and it seems too hard and I feel like I can't take it.  It's a task for me to get out of bed and face a day that I already know will defeat me.  And I feel dejected.  I want to make bad decisions and act in a self-destructive manner because for me, none of my pain makes any sense.  None of it does anyone any good, least of all me.  At these times I am my weakest.  At these times I am most vulnerable.

That was pretty much the extent of how my day went.  Another day defeated me and something told me that I'm in danger of slipping below the radar.  Oh, how I don't want that! No one wants that.

Love,

One of the three.

Julia: Firsts of My 16th Year!

Hey Party People,

Something special-like is happening this Friday... It's my BIRTHDAY! I am turning 17 and this marks the age I will be when I go to COLLEGE! That it's so nearly tangible is increasingly frightening.

A lot of firsts happened in my 16th year. December the 21st, I hung out with Sage Anne DosSantos for the first time. Sage, who cannot approach a person or even talk to them unless they initiate, was sitting in the Libs. I walked up to her because I knew that she was in my US History class, and asked her what the homework was (clearly I didn't know her because I now know that Sage doesn't even know what teachers she has because she uses class for sleeping, the slacker). She then told me that she had no idea. I assumed the chair next to her and just started gabbing away like a psycho to this random chick while she was trying to figure out the most polite way to get the hell away from me. We were not yet friends. But one day she invited me to her birthday gathering on a party bus. I was honored; little did I know she solely invited me because a couple of people bailed so she needed to invite more people. On the party bus, we formed a quick and effortless sort of friendship and went on to become the same person. Through Sage I met Rebecca, Christina, Rob, and almost everyone else whom I would include in my will. At the age of 16, I made true and life-long social connections; I met my friends whom are now something of a family.

One week exactly after I turned 16, I received my Learner's Permit. This was the beginning of Julia's newfound mobility. Ten months and three days after I turned 16, I passed my road test on my first shot. Twenty-two hours later, I got in my first accident. In my 16th year, I got 5 new peircings. It was also in my 16th year that I first used a fake ID.

When I was 16, I took my grandmother's credit card and went shopping online. I ran up a tab worth around $2,300. At 16, I finally paid my mother back for a Chanel bag I had bought in Paris in my 14th year that cost $1,280. This year was the brokest year of my life on record.

In September of my 16th year, I got my first car: a 2009 SE Jetta, silver with anthracite leather interior. In early October, I finished my college essay and for the first time realized just how directly the actions I take now can affect my long-term future in a big way. I laughed and celebrated leaving high school, I cried and mourned leaving high school. In preparation for my 17th year, I received a surprise birthday event from my friends. However, this was still during my 16th year and it is counted as a 16th year first. I have never had friends who really care about my approaching birthday, let alone throw me a surprise for it. It was among my greatest firsts.

And of course, my first blog!

A lot of other little things happened in my 16th year; to a select few, the words "Macy's," "No more than 6 garments...," and "funday," make a great deal of sense. While I cannot elaborate on them here, believe me, they were firsts.

And now I'm going to be 17. A whole new batch of firsts are cookin' up and they're scents are undeniable.

Let's explore some possible experiences associated with 17:
College
Senior License
Greater access to more advanced fake IDs
Older boys--by one year

... Who am I kidding? I've been pretending I'm 21 since I was 14.
17 means a whole year of fun-er and naughtier experiences! And I'll be sure to let you all know if I get arrested or end up in the hospital or anything else out of the ordinary happens--which means I'll be here a lot. My life is anything but ordinary.

Love,

Julia Kathryn!

Julia: A Set

; ) by JuliaKV1031


This is something that I made.

Love,
Julia

Julia: Going Nuts

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a long while. I've been incredibly busy with college applications and keeping up in school. I've written my second and winning college essay, answered the four NYU application questions, asked Mrs. Carnahan for a recommendation, and have kept up with my grades. Right now I'm in a hurry to send my NYU application in by November 1st, the early decision deadline. I'm soo positive that NYU is where I need to be next year. I can nearly taste it. When things calm down a bit I'll restart fencing and guitar. Right now everything's just a little bit crazy. My biggest struggle is the essay and questions. I'm having trouble reducing the word count to the limit of 500 or less for the essay (and 500 or less characters per question). It's actually quite Hell-ish for me. You know that I like to be thorough and go on and on and on and on... Oh, I was doing it again, wasn't I?
I also got a new car! Yay. But I don't have much time to celebrate, gotta get back to the apps...
See you soon (hopefully).

Love,
Julia

PS. Did I mention my birthday is at the end of the month. October 31st, Halloween. No wonder I'm such a witch. (It's also the day before my ED deadline; now that is something scary.)

PPS. "Thanks for the candy."

... (butterfinger)

Julia: Nabob and Boogle

So, last time I posted, I told you all that I have decided to grow up and, ya’ know, let nature take its course.  Well, it’s been 22 days since my last post and it’s been 22 days of putting my theories into practice on this new school year.  I have learned quite a few things… three of which I hold to be most valuable. 

The first is that growing up isn’t necessary simple or pleasant.  The second thing I learned is that we all must do it anyway.  The third, and perhaps most valuable, lesson that I have learned in my three weeks of being a high school senior is that one must never waste a wish, an opportunity, or a good friend.  Good friends are really hard to find. 

There are about six and a half billion people on this earth and the fact that all humans seem to do is interact with other humans and yet few of them are loyal and sincere does, at times, make me feel down.  But there is a bright side.  The people that are good friends, because they are not in plentiful supply, are to be cherished and appreciated.  People seem to be really fond of wasting time; but every second I spend being less than my best person is such a shame and a waste. 

People fight over stupid, stupid, things, and that is a shame, too.  Because people lie to each other all of the time and stupid boys don’t have a problem with tearing apart an honest relationship; but even so, any boy who has done that is not at fault.  Only girls are at fault for letting trivialities drive apart their friendship.  I don’t want that to be my story.  I don’t want to lose a friend over that sort of thing.  I refuse to. 

And even if you can get past the indiscretion, that still isn’t the hardest part.  A wise man named Albus Dumbledore once said, “It is far easier to forgive someone for being wrong than for being right.”  (He said this of Percy Weasley, FYI).  And basically what this means is that stupid people have stupid pride and, as a device of human nature, it is really difficult for people to put their pride aside and put themselves on the line.  And when two very stubborn people butt heads… well, that just means that two best friends don’t exchange a single word for a couple of weeks.

 

So, to review: What truly is important in this fleeting lifetime?

 

-          To seize each opportunity and seize each day.

-          To value each friendship and observe the ability to put your convictions aside, whether they are right or wrong, for your friend.

-          To smile at random people.

-          And to use words like ‘nabob’ and ‘boogle.’  I’m serious.

 

Love (with all of my heart),

Julia Kathryn

PS. Nabob is “any very wealthy, influential, or powerful person,” and ‘boogle’ is a name given to a group or pack of weasels.

Julia: Never-Never Land = Life With Mom at Thirty

Okay... so two days from today (one day, actually, considering it's 12:51 AM), I begin the first day of my senior year. AKA the first day of my last year of high school. AKA the last year of hell. AKA the year before the rest of my life starts. And although I claim high school was hell (and, believe me, it was--is), and although I am eager to leave it, I am also nervous to leave it... I'm nervous to even start the first year of my last year here--the end of which year signals my free fall into the real world. The real world is one that I like to think I know much about but in reality know that I probably understand little of. I'm scared. I'm really scared.

I hate high school but by the same token I don't want to leave the comfort it represents. I know that girls are bitchy, rude, and immature and in knowing this I know what to expect of them and can easily anticipate what will happen next (as well as what will happen next-next). It's okay to me. I don't like it but I get it. I can even somewhat ignore it. It's something similar to symbiosis although I imagine it's not as peaceful and I am certain that it's not voluntary. If I could do without catty teenage drama, I would.

And I have the opportunity. All I have to do is work my ass off now and that is how I get out of here. But what happens when I move on to the bigger and better? What if that just means that the problems are bigger and the people are better at deceiving me? That is not comforting.

But I can handle it. And I'll have to. I have no choice. I'm not Peter Pan. I can't stop myself from growing up... Actually I can. But staying this age doesn't bring me the glamor of never-never land; it just means I'm single, broke, and living with my mother still at thirty.

Ick.

I'll pass.

So, in conclusion, I have decided to grow up and simply let you all know how things go along the way.

Love,

Julia

PS. I got my driver's license today (September 2nd, I mean). Go me.

Julia: Cheshire Cat

I do often find myself to be just like the Cheshire Cat.  He is an enigma.  And like myself, he also wasn't designed to be understood.  This is because he simply doesn't make any sense.

Do you see what I see now?

Love,

Julia

PS.  One day I will be gone... and all that will be left is an eerie sort of smile.

Maybe you know it?

Cheshire Cat certainly had it right.

Julia: We All Have These

Hi.

Today was a bad day.  A really bad day.  I woke up this morning and I was scared that it would be a bad day.  And then I was mad that I was right; that’s how bad the day was.  It sucked.  Nothing went right.  No one seemed right.  I didn’t feel right.  It was one of those days.  The ones that you’d probably rather be prosecuted in court for witchcraft in 1690s Salem than keep on keeping on to see if tomorrow is better or just as sucky.  The ones that rob you of any remaining will you had from the last really bad day right out of your soul.  And at the end of the day, your sources feel totally depleted.  

All the sucky wrongness of the day exhausts the hell out of you and there’s no energy left to contemplate dealing with the consequences tomorrow or what part you contributed to the vortex of shit that was that day.  There’s no energy to think of what you might have done wrong.  There’s no energy to think of how to make things right.  There might be a teensy bit of energy left to begin plotting revenge against other wrong-doers of the day, but not if that means that you have to exert yourself physically or mentally in any way (revenge-plotting comes rather easily to some people—like me).

And sometimes, when I have days as bad as these, I start to feel somewhat suffocated in the sense that I want out of the current circumstances of my life but am resignedly devoid of the ability to escape them.  I start to feel like I need to just get the hell out.  And right now.  Like I’m losing control; like I’m no longer the captain of my own ship.

That is the worst feeling.  Ever.  It can drive you to do crazy things.  It can take you to an undeveloped place most people wouldn’t care to be.  Insanity takes over and you do things you don’t like and say things you don’t mean.  You do these things just to prove that you can.  To prove that you are the captain of your ship and that means that you can run it in to the ground if you’d very well please.  And the worst part is: it mostly just hurts yourself.  And after the bad day… you guessed it: only you are left to pick up the pieces.  It’s self destructive and it’s ugly.

It was a pretty bad day today.

I hope tomorrow is better.

Love,

Julia

PS. Regarding tomorrow: it will be better.

Julia: I think these are almost too funny.

If you were thinking that this makes no sense... then you have its essence nailed.  It really doesn't make any sort of sense. It's just funny.  Tee hee.

There are all these people... girls, mostly... who think that since they were the first cool kids on the block to like a band that they now have a patent on that band. -->

These two are funny satires on those people.

I have tons more, too.  (I literally have thousands on my computer... one's that are way funnier than these, as well.) I'll post more at a later time/date.

An undetermined amount of love (though it's sure to be a lot),

Julia

PS. People should take their “I want you to like me” stickers off of their foreheads and put them where they’d really do some good—on their mirrors.

Julia: This is Notoriously Deep

There is this incredible view just down the road from my house.  The visibility of the distant landscape is unhindered by houses or trees or any other obstruction.  I like to go there sometimes when the clatter in my head becomes more that I can manage.  I sit on the curb facing an empty, house-less lot and watch the sun set against the perfect blue sky.  I give my worries to nature as the light breeze soothes my anxiety.  I’m too young for this anxiety.  

When I go there I can see the reds and oranges and blues and purples that grace the sky just as the sun prepares to sink beneath the horizon; I can see three or four clouds, all with their silver linings, that I know must separate us from God’s kingdom; I can see the way a strong beam of light escapes the protection of a cloud in front of the gradually descending sun; I can see the way the whole scene reflects onto the calm Hudson.  With this vision, I know I am experiencing one of God’s daily miracles.  I know that the panorama before me that is sprinkled with life, emotion, and the depth of love cannot possibly be incidental or the product of science alone.  

I can very clearly see the face of God reflecting in this sight, his masterpiece, which is one of those majestic commonalities that our fast, mundane world so frequently misses.  If it hadn't brought me such great joy to be a catching a moment by my hands that seemed to be so tangible, the kind that greats like Steinbeck, Hemingway, and Whitman wrote about, it might have brought me sadness and pity for those not seeing what I was seeing on a day like that.  When I looked at the sky, I knew that there was more up there, just beyond the clouds.  I knew that the light pouring out of the break led directly to the Heavens.  

For a moment, all of the noise in my head was dulled and I felt the most beautiful silence.  The din was completely sedated.  And for the expanse of this wonderful moment, I stopped being angry about things happening halfway across the world, I stopped being angry about things that happened fifty years ago, and I stopped being angry that my mother doesn't take me out driving as often as I’d like her to.  I realized how angry I always am.  How tense, bitter, and cynical I’d become.  

Just then, for the briefest time, I became the sort of optimist that I usually belittle.  I looked up, and I was looking at infinity.  It’s important not to get lost in the endlessness of the sky.  It’s meant to motivate and inspire, not engulf a being like the black wave or the means reds.  If I don’t forget that all of this exists for the love of man, then I feel comfort in knowing that the force of the universe is on my side.  I would never dare to tread on its toes; I wouldn’t last against such a formidable opponent.  For this moment, we were quiet together in perfect coexistence.  My mind was at ease.

When the silence finally left my head, I yearned to call it back to me just as God calls his children back to him.  But I could not.  

It was part of that day, and that day was now over.  The moon that was but a faint outline for several hours prior to sundown had at last claimed its reign over the great night sky and was emanating its brightest glow.  Its light touched the city in the South and the mountains in the West.  And although I could not find the North Star and I could not spot my favorite constellations (excluding the Big Dipper, as that one was still visible) because of the city lights that extended into my small suburban town, I knew that they were still there.  And although the sight of the magnanimous sky can have the effect of making a small girl feel lost in a big world, I knew that I was still there, too.

Love,

Julia

Julia: All Credits to Dove

I think everyone needs to see this clip.  It's really fantastic and reflective of the monster that our society has become.

Dove's tag-line: No wonder our perception of beauty is distorted.

And another...

Love,

Julia

Julia: Meet Jane and Montgomery

Hi everyone.

When do you know that it’s time to let go?

There is always that resounding truth in the front of your mind telling you that there is still a chance [of whatever the matter is], be it .0000.....1%, and that this “thing” is still out there somewhere in the universe. It tethers your hopes to life and gives you some false sense of optimism. I know, I know... you’re lost right now, just bare with me for a moment.

You see, this is the way I think of it: Usually your conscience is portrayed as two miniature versions of you sitting on either shoulder. In entertainment and cinema, one you usually adorns some sort of wings and halo set giving the audience a sense that this you is your pure, angelic form (what Sigmund Freud would probably refer to as one’s “superego.”) It is also routine for your other shoulder to play host to your devil self. This is provided aesthetically via red horns, a tail, and a forked staff. This is essentially Sigmund Freud’s personified vision of one’s “id.” (Leaving the central you to act as Freud's "ego," of course.)

In compliance with classic theatrical portrayals of such a scene, the two exaggerated versions of you proceed to bicker over potential courses of action (occupying opposite spectral platforms as they occupy opposite shoulders), in turn leaving the original, mundane you just as, if not more, confused and undecided as before.

This, my friends, is called cinematic cliché. I’d go on a rant divulging my utter distaste for use of clichés, but in the interest of arriving at some sort of apex in my youth, I’ll simply said that this can, at best, provide comedic relief. Because, really, that’s just not how it happens. We’ll save my ironically trite rant of clichés for a rainy day. I digress.

Anyway, I see the whole “conscience” thing quite differently in my head. I still see a me on either shoulder, however they are not wearing any sort of festive costume that can be found at Party City for candy begging (and Julia-birthday-like) holidays. No, they just look like me, adorning my regular old get-up; it’s really very simple.

I talk to them, which is to say that I talk to myself. Quite often, really… but we already knew this.
This is all relevant to the topic of letting go, I promise. I’m just laying down the bricks.

So these people on my shoulders differ from the trademark picture of conscience in yet another most significant fashion. While the theory of miniature versions of you on either shoulder offering both advice at the opposite ends of the spectrum as well as an exchange of witty and almost friendly banter is both cute and creepy, it was originally invented as a simplified manifestation of personal moral discretion that can be most easily understood by an audience in which one must assume that it isn’t altogether bright enough to figure these sorts of things on its own. It’s like Hermione Granger or Dumbledore; JK Rowling once said that if any new theories need to be introduced in the Harry Potter books concerning the wizarding world, she would use either Hermione or my good pal Albus as a device with which to present the information to her readers as it makes sense due to their slightly ominous presences throughout the book.

Do you go with the Devil, whose advice is consistently most appealing but almost always selfish, indulgent, immoral, and/or illegal? OR do you side with your right shoulder-dwelling Angel, who's advice is reliable though often more selfless and rational than instantaneously gratifying? The Devil does an excellent job of promoting the irrational and impulsive option that most likely pays off immediately but is not, however, always beneficial to you/others/society from a long term perspective.
But you get what you want!
And you get it now!
But at what price?

The answer seems clear: it's usually somewhere in the middle. It’s rational and sane, which means it’s a good thing that so many on this earth are just that. That’s why we don’t have economic problems; that's why we all agree across the nation on every little thing. My God, if you couldn’t hint the sarcasm in that statement, then there’s just nothing that I can possibly do for you! Nevertheless, the reasonable enough, well-adjusted individual would, if only given the choices of the two extremes, ideally choose to be the angel.

Here’s where our (as in, reader vs. Julia) situations part ways. I have a Julia on each shoulder, appearing to be neither demonic nor angelic. All the better with which to fool me, my dear! The truth: they are both devils, using their silver tongues and quick wits to influence every decision I make. They tell me what I want to hear, but not what I should hear. They lead me to my own doom, one that I arrive at expecting cookies. They own me and prevent me from ever letting go of any matter that they can coax me into believing possible, the little Tykes. And, even though I know this, I continue to fall into their traps time and time again. They don’t like me, which is fucked up due to the fact that they are me.

Jane, on the right, and Montgomery, on the left, are 100% pure evil. They exist entirely; I would never call them imaginary friends. I only have room for one imaginary friend, and his name is Shiloh. My boobs are Jumanji and King Kong and I have a whole lot of body parts named Martha… but none of these are as damn manipulative as the three inch versions of myself whom won’t even like me via familial (if you can call yourself family) obligation. Some [well balanced] individuals have a visual manifestation of a conscience of moral discretion (as was mentioned), whereas I have only a visual manifestation of my own poor, convoluted judgment… as if I needed additional reminders of how insane I am.

Anyway, the little devils don’t let me forget anything and they completely own my soul… but, ehh, what can ya’ do?

Tell me I'm crazy. 

Now tell me you love me, anyway.

Love,
Julia

Julia: My first, albeit short, book review.

Book: Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel
Rating: aMust Reada

Okay, so this book I just started and finished yesterday, Prozac Nation, has changed my life.

Not really. It just gave me insight to truths I knew yet couldn’t possibly articulate for myself. Not only was it incredibly moving and not only did it hit all too close to home, but reading it was like reading pure poetry. And if anyone can appreciate poetry, I assure you, it is me (having read Leaves of Grass thirty times, at minimum. It looks like it’s been through World War II, which, of course, it has.) It is absolutely beautiful rhetoric and prose; the articulation could hold your attention all on its own; the story is ground-breaking, in addition.

I would love to recommend Prozac Nation to all, but in the interest of being honest, it just isn’t a book that I feel would appeal to all audiences, though I desperately wish it did, that it could. I don’t think everybody would be able to sympathize, let alone empathize, as I did; especially not if the topic at hand is particularly foreign to the reader. But, definitely give it a shot. With the right candidate, it could truly be life-altering. Or enlightening, at the very least.

Needless to say, I loved it.

There were numerous quotes that made me stop reading and reflect immediately. I’ll share one such quote:

“…to drag your feet here, there, and everywhere, nowhere at all… I must move, must get farther and farther from this fire that’s going to burn all of me down. It is cold outside, but I’m crazy from the heat.”
Page 208, Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel

My next book: Cirque du Freak by Darren Shan

Bare with me, here.

Love,
Julia

Julia: Cultivating a Balance

What is beauty?

According to mass media, feminine beauty is defined by:

Thin torso
Large breasts
Unhindered complexion
Impeccable bone structure
Smooth, equally pigmented epidermis
Straight nose
Perfectly aligned and whitened teeth
(Typically) Light eyes
Long eye lashes
Full lips
High cheek bones
Lavish hair

That’s quite a lot to ask of any individual. One of the flaws of society is this demanding standard. We all struggle trying to amount to the airbrushed goddesses that appear on the front covers of magazines. We complain that ‘that’s not what real people look like.’ Yet, truly, we have set these unapproachable heights that we so openly rebel. We put the money in the pockets of “perfection.” We have set the ideal so far above our heads. And, honestly, we want to see attractive people on our TV screens. Admit it; soap romances wouldn’t be nearly as heated within the audiences if participating parties were uncomely. We want to see this… because we want to be this. It’s like crack.

Why? What’s the obsession with the “Size Two” look? I know, I know… this is an exhausted topic. “The true beauty is within… blah, blah, blah…” So you’ve heard it before? Of course you have. I’m not going to rant about the terrible demon that the Hollywood Vortex presents to society; I am the worst offender. I want to be beautiful with the rest of ‘em, truth be told.

Sure, our shallow society does get me down. But I can’t entirely part with it. Reasons being: 1) In the epic battle of the social repulsion vs. morbid isolation dilemma, I bathe with the monsters; 2) I’m not trying to tell you that I’m not a monster, myself. I am a monster. Perhaps less so, granted. And perhaps I’m a different brand of monster. But I am not without my flaws… though I never claimed to be.

Nevertheless, I’d like to break the tension by telling you all that I think I’m beautiful. There are, of course, those moments in which I slip beneath the surface and all of my suppressed insecurities float to the forefront. But I fight these moments and just try to be the best version of myself possible. And that includes physically.

So, right on to beauty; just don’t let it be everything. There’s this miraculous thing that I’m trying to cultivate: a healthy balance. Socially, academically, physically, mentally/emotionally, etc. In this way, it’s hard not to be pulled in several different directions and slip beneath the surface once again. But I’m guaranteed to screw up at least 37 more times this month in all different sort of variations. The only hope that I have is that when I do, as it’s entirely unavoidable, I can pull myself together quickly and learn from each misstep. There’s not much else I can do. It’s apart of letting go but holding on at the same time. Balance.

And I know this fact more than most: it's easier said than done.

So, what I mean to say is that we all mess up and get caught up in our worldly trivialities... but when that happens, I know that I'm not a bad person and that my friends will be there for me. We need people there for us or we just won't make it. I'll always be there for you, ready to catch you when you fall.

Why? Because I love all of you, and those who mess up need my love even more.

Love (always),
Julia

Julia: I ask THE question.

There’s this word that we often toss around: love. She loves him; he loves her. I love you; you love me. I hear it all of the time...

But, when speaking in terms of romanticism, does this ambiguous and nearly indefinable word have one tangible meaning that can be manifested in a people? I’m sure it does. However, the even more perplexing riddle is: what is that meaning? Is it only present when fireworks go off at a kiss? When your stomach does a flip-flop at the sight of your object of affections? When you don’t mind the otherwise insufferably irritating sound of his/her cow-like gum chewing? True, this could be love… but must it be love? Is love something that develops? Is the love-at-first-sight to happily-married-couples ratio one to one million?

The greatest mystery of our time on earth is the ultimate and persistently inexplicit nature of love. Sometimes the love in one’s heart can be contained inside a [metaphoric] box, while at other times it is as large as the sun.
Is there such thing as young love? We often hear of high school sweethearts who married, grew old together, and never tired of each other. Is this luck, perhaps? Perhaps the person that they thought they loved as a teenager turned out to be the person that they were madly in love with as adults. Coincidence? It could be. It also could be a great and spectacular illusion.

Or it might be this concept of ‘Soul Mates’. I truly do believe in it, as cheesy as that is. I believe that there is one person in this world, only one, that we can fully give our hearts to. One person that we ought to be with; a person defined at our birth and theirs. Sure, there are illusions. But that’s all they are: illusions of something real. I see it as though there is a magnet inside me and a corresponding magnet within another and the universe is pulling us together because we are supposed to find each other. I think this comforts me because I can leave the tasking responsibility of finding my counterpart up to fate and I can quit trying so hard… and quit worrying, to boot.

However, I worry anyway. Come on now, we all knew I would.
This post has served no recognizable modicum of practicality as I initially intended to write it in order to reconcile my demons and achieve a peace of mind. Nevertheless, I enjoyed writing it immensely. I always enjoy sharing my thoughts with those who care enough to read them. In writing this, I sought some sort of solution for the vast range of feelings that have harbored within me lately; a cure for my plague… but I think I’m even more confused now.

So, tell me… what is love?

Love,
Julia

PS. I'm not through with this topic yet. You'll hear more of love from me.

Julia: Bigglewhitz.

Riveting post, my dear Sage (feel free to imagine this statement in a British accent--I said it in one). I feel compelled to add one thing; stress one point, if you will. Since Sage and Julia met... years and years ago ; )... we have spent nary a day apart. The same goes for Rebeccavich Evanovich. There was that one incident, "Puerto Rico," (still sensitive to mention) and we all know that the effects of this were... near fatal. This is precisely the Julia-withdrawal that Sage mentioned below. We almost didn't make it.

The problem, you see, is that the three of us, we are very strange. Strange and unusual. It takes special people to tolerate our shared company. Very special people, indeed. We almost can't stand ourselves, is the truth. So anyway, it is by the Grace of God that we found each other. And without Sage's person, without Rebecca's person, Julia isn't just one-third of a person... she's one-third of an incredibly obnoxious and psychotic person.

Please applaud my up-and-coming loneliness. I wouldn't even be friends with me.

Who knows, maybe I'll lose the few dwindling threads that tether me to any modicum of sanity. Probably I will.

I don't need them anyway. I hardly make use of them as it is.
Jane and Montgomery make sure of that.

Love,
Julia

Or maybe Julio.

Sage: [enter IC girl here] Withdrawal

Hello readers! It has been far too long! I know, I have missed you as well.
However, it is Julia whom one should worry for. I fear she shall not make it through the week ahead. You see, Saturday is the last day either of us shall see Revs (she leaves for camp) until the school year begins once again. It shall be hard enough to make it through the summer without her *tear*, but for Julia, this coming week will be hell, itself, for I leave Sunday morning to Fordham University in the city for ten days. I should expect her to spend unrelenting hours at her desk. I expect several new blogs, and I am sure to return to innumerable facebook wall posts, bumperstickers, and phone messages.

Regrettably, both Revs and I have already experienced what is known as “Julia-withdrawal,” and it is about time that the tables were turned. It is a difficult and painful process. Hours seem as long as days, and weeks as months. Rebecca and I braved the process, but I fear Julia has underestimated the effects of “Sage/Revs-withdrawal.”

I know most of you are sitting here thinking ‘It’s only ten days…’ Well, you simply do not understand… As Julia explained below, any one of us three is completely useless on her own. I mean, a third of a person could not be very valuable, could it? There is very little we are capable of as individuals. You know what they say, “united we stand, divided we fall.” United we… survive? Yea, that sounds about right.

So, please, keep Julia in your prayers. The poor girl needs all the help she can lay her hands on to begin with. And, as for IC withdrawal, we pray it is an experience none of you have to suffer throughout your lives.

In Conclusion - :p

P.S. Another prayer request: Please keep our dear Robert in your thoughts, for he is one of the few who suffer from IC withdrawal on a semi-daily basis. We love you Rob<3

Julia: The Burden You Carry (As My Friend)

Okay, so following this Sunday, I am going to be alone FOR TEN DAYS. Some people might say that Julia Venditti is one-third of a person; that Sage DosSantos is one-third of a person; that Rebecca Evans is one-third of an actual person. Alone, none of us is worth very much. Personally, I rather live my life at their sides; and with them at mine. I prefer not to go very long periods of time without seeing these girls. Some people might call this the art of “best friend-ship.” I think that this is more than appropriate given the significant portion of my time allocated towards them; and happily so. I love them. They really came to me as angels this year.

If I’m being honest, had they not come into my life some eight (8) months ago, I might not still be here… on this earth… with all of you. They aren’t just best friends; they aren’t just family; they are my life… and not in the trivial teenage sense. These girls could trash my stuff, hurt me physically and emotionally, and try to push me away the hardest they can, but it will never work. They are so stuck with me.

The burden of saving a girl’s life: she’ll never let you go.
I just hope they never want me to.

Love,
Julia

PS. To be fair, a certain 'Robert' (AKA the love of my life) has also helped so incredibly to salvage my life. This blog just focuses on the up-and-coming absense of these girls in my life for ten days on Sage's behalf and, as for Revsicles, the whole fucking summer.

PPS. Shoot me? Thanks.

Julia: The Woes of CDO

What is CDO? It's like OCD, except the letters are in alphabetical order, as they should be.

I like when things repeat in patterns. Am I the only one?

Rising order, descending order, symmetrically, or even in defined increments. All fine.

What ‘things’ am I speaking of that must repeat as such, you ask? Anything, I answer. Shapes, objects, numbers, people.
Yes. To answer your inevitable question, people can, in fact, repeat in patterns.
If you neither understand nor empathize with this situation, then congratulations, you don’t have OCD.

Nevertheless, I will elaborate. Come along with me; come upon this ride of example.
I am a girl scout (HA, fucking HA—I’m getting into a good college) and recently embarked upon the gold award mission. The number our troop (yes, there are more of us) was originally assigned was 2881. This number gives me the chills just writing it. Yes, we’ve established that I am insane. So anyway, I could not, would not have this absolute travesty of a number, 2881 *heebie jeebies occur*, continue to… be. What I see when I look at this number is—even, middle, middle, odd—I tilt my head due to the asymmetrical imbalance of it all.

FYI – Our number is now 2884. This is acceptable. Although 2882 would have been orgasmic, 2884 is acceptable.

That is all.

Love,
Julia

(JU-LI-A)