Happy-Unhappy

Things that make me happy:

Fat babies

Tickling Chris
The smell of magnolia trees

Soft towels

Writing

Brisk walks

Hot chocolate on a foggy afternoon

Cuddling (only when it's cold) 

A good read

Hugging my mom

Acting my shoe size
Board games with my crazy family

Good Grades

A heart to heart conversation with someone I didn't know too well

Discovering new artists

Climbing trees

Picking at tidepools

Laying out in the sun

Towels fresh out of the dryer

Fresh baked anything

Late night walks

Catching up with old friends

Dorky photographs 

Listening to stories about my elders when they were young
Grandparents

Things that Christopher believe make me happy

Christopher Ramos

Chocolate

Candy

Fluffy Bunnies
Star Wars (4-6)

Star Wars Art

Being Beautiful

Arts and Crafts ( i wont admit it unless under pressure )

Biting Chris' and babies cheeks

playing (learning) music

driving with loud music (aerosmith & red hot chili peppers)

Painting - in solitude

facebook(GUILTY)

attacking from the east
Dancing in my car pretending like I'm in Las Vegas

Shit that makes me unhappy:

When Last.fm plays tUnE-YaRds when I clearly banned that shit from my radio

When all my shit falls out of my purse while driving because I forgot to zip it closed

When they don't put Marschino cherries in my Shirley Temple, what is that shit?

Shit that makes other people unhappy:

Ugly toenails

When someone likes their own facebook statuses

When someone tags themselves in their own pictures

When girls paint their nails all different colors, it makes them look emotionally unstable

I used to write.

A lot.

Now I find it more difficult than ever. Recently I have been beyond insecure about my writing. I write paragraphs, single paragraphs, and before I can finish the last sentence I erase the entire paragraph in regret.  I can't seem to utter the right words anymore or pinpoint my exact feelings. Something changed.

Maybe it was my transition into a university? I don't know. Maybe I became so distracted by my academic writing that I forgot what it feels like to write narratives.

I remember how amazingly free it felt to write in my creative writing class. I didn't mind writing and reading my work aloud. And now, now I can't imagine reading something of mine to a friend, let alone a co-worker, a classmate, or a complete stranger. I encourage people everyday to make decisions, to run with their thoughts and write what they feel. I ask that people make bold decisions and assertions and to make their voice be heard, because after all, their voice counts - their voice means something. Yet, why can't I get myself to take my own advice?

I'm afraid that I've lost my voice.
I need to keep writing or else I feel as if I am never going to regain my voice.

When I first met Christopher, I spent so much time analyzing the value systems of others. I once wrote in a blue book to a professor about beliefs:
 "Dear Professor, this topic literally scared the shit out of me. Mostly because I have spent the later half of my life vacillating on the fence about my beliefs and on day one you have asked that I get off the fence." Yadda Yadda. I took philosophy and literature courses to understand the perceptions of others, to gain insight of the minds that have, likewise, questioned the motions of life.  And here I am, lucky me, standing off the fucking fence realizing that the most valuable things to me are: my voice, the freedom of voice, and love.

I'm just having some trouble writing it out.