Copius amounts of...anything.

I've been clasping my fingers together so tightly lately, that they're almost a permanent blue.

God, there's so much to be thankful for.
The last couple days I've been going through all my stuff to give away to salvation army. You know what makes me sick? I really feel like throwing up as I type thinking about all the freaking kids on the street, tonight. I don't understand. All the families who are so cold while I sit in my heated comfortable room. I don't like this. I don't want to be comfortable. I'm going to go turn my fan on, hold on.

I still don't feel better. A little more cold, but that's it.

BEHNOOSH IS A STAR.

Call me a sucker, but I'm listening to Josh Groban. That man is...flippin talented.

I'm burning insence and the smoke swirls up and around my fan across the room near the ceiling. I can appreciate that.

I hope the homeless guy in Leanne's backyard is warm, tonight.

I miss my Uncle, today. Damn.
And I can't even remember what he sounds like anymore. I hate myself more than anything for that.

I want so many things. I think I've wrote many blogs about different things I want or need or complain about.

I want copious amounts of money. No, not for frivilous reasons. Screw that. I want to give some to "Beautiful Feet". Dude, that place changed me in so many ways. I want copious amounts of food so I can go freakin give it to people. I want copious amounts homes. So that guy in Leanne's garage can have a real place to stay. I want copious amounts of...love.

Not to be cheesy, I swear. I just think that would be nice. Copious amounts of anything would be, really. Except for like alcohol or cigarettes, or cancer, or ladybugs.

There's so much to be thankful for.
Thank you Josh.

Caught in a blizzard.

Sometimes I like to pretend I'm a little girl, again. Going over to my grandparents on Christmas Eve and "helping cook" food for the following day. But really we'd put on our gingerbread aprons and oversee Mema. The woman who makes everything happen. The woman who still, to this day, makes me the happiest girl ever. Then our parents would pick us up, and we'd go eat somewhere together. And then afterwards we'd take mom home and she cooked Christmas cookies while Samantha, daddy, and I looked at Christmas lights in Hall Park. There was this roof that always had a chu chu train on it. We'd marvel at the lights and feel so happy when we turned on the radio and heard the "santa radar' and sang to the lttle drummer boy. Then we'd come hom, uwrap our pretty ornament we got every year from mom, and eat a cookie and set some out for santa. We'd all watch Frosty the snowman then anxiously crawl into our beds anticipating the wonderful morning ahead.

Today I went over to my grents house. Actually did cook. Our parents picked us up because of the blizzard and I went home and cleaned my room. We ate dinner, hardly as a family, and here I am again...cleaning my room. I've been in my room all night...sulking...wishing it felt more like Christmas. Wishing my family would wake up. They're all tired I guess. No cookies, no lights, no frosty...no santa.

I'm grateful, though. I promise.

A sillouette of broken promises.

I promise with every ounce of who I am; I'm trying.
I promise that the only reason I give up, is because I think I can't move.
Move on, move up, move forward...move outta here.

I promise that I don't try hard enough.
I promise that I don't do my best.
I promise, that even if I act like your love is meaningless-it means the world. It would mean the world to hug you sometimes; feel loved by you, sometimes. I wonder what it would feel to have your arms around me. Not a hug, I've had countless, but a person holding me together. Protecting me. I bet the world would stop for this moment.
The world would say "Hey! Look there, he loves her. That father would move mountains for his daughter. That father is her rock. That father is a father whom that girl can look to and see God."

I promise that I've never felt that way.

I can't complain.
I can't play the victim.
I can't act like I am without.

That would be a lie. I have so much. Too much.

I have a home. Food to eat. 30,000 children die every night of starvation and malnutrition.
How do I even have the right to complain?

Yet here I am...still typing. Still pitying myself when I have plenty of others things I could be doing. Like my stupid psychology paper.

When things got bad, I promised myself I wouldn't fall.
I wouldn't lose myself and I wouldn't conform.
One broken promise led to another broken promise which led to a sillouette of broken promises.

Not okay, Kels. Not okay.
Who do I think I am? I want soooooo much to make a dent on the world. I want my friends to look back on their life and remember that I was a part of it. A good part. I want my family to stop passing by me and grab me by the shoulders and say "Kelsey, take a breath! It'll all be okay." because sometimes I forget to breathe.

I want to go to Africa. Sometimes I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I want to help. I don't want to waste my life here, feeling inadequate. Now I know all human beings are inadequate. Everyone falls short because no one is perfect. I just need to move.

Move on, move up, move forward...move outta here.

Lift each other up

As a team you always want to build each other up. A slap on the butt, a congratulatory hug, or one of those fancy black handshakes. That last ones always funny to me. My best friend is a big black dude and seriously, whenever he sees another friend when I'm with him, they always have some pre-programmed handshake. I've tried to fit in with that whole handshake thing, and thought that as long as it ended in a snap-it would all be good. Wrong. The first time was my last.

Families. The people you receive unconditional love from. The people who have seen you at your worst and at your best, with that same darn smile. But I don't feel like I'm even close to flying. I feel low. Unimportant. Unloved.

This is a divergent feeling. I have plenty of people whom I know love me-just have this majorly skewed perception that it's conditional. Doubt it...alot. It's not a good feeling.

I'm wearing yellow shorts.

Have you ever met that one person who just gets you? Golly gee I sound like a grandmother, but it is so liberating to know I have a few of those people in my life. Dude, Christmas is around the corner. I need to be happy. Grateful. I need to start lifting others up. How can I expect to be lifted when I'm not moving? I want so much to be important-but there are more important things than that. Other people that mean more and Yahweh...he's número UNO. Come on, Kels.

Come on...

Shalom.

It was strange when I caught myself thinking about him. It was kinda nice before I remembered how much I hated him, all the same. I don't hate him...but the feelings stratteling the line.

We used to speed down Tecumseh listening to Ben Folds and burning insence. Windows down, minds open. And boy did I feel special to be so close to a college boy. Too close. He captures me the day we walked around the park in my neighborhood for hours, just talking. He told me something important...and I let him in. He came to every performance that year. Two nights in a row and he stayed until everyone left. I knew that because the first night he was sitting on the steps, and the second night he left a sunkist at the door. He planned to to go the river, and make a bonfire...he'd taken me to the river before. There was a tire in the sand a ways away. We made a bet that if he could throw this stick past the tire, then I'd have to kiss him. He did. And I followed through. Though I wish I hadn't. I let him in. I let him in too deep. And I'll never forgive myself for that. Who knew my best friend...sister almost...would hurt me so badly. So now they're engaged...

"Shalom" is the Hebrew word for "peace" or "a strong connection with God" or "hello" or "goodbye". I like that word because it holds such meaning. So I guess each day is a new one. And I suppose I should try to find shalom in everything. Even something as deep as my kidney.

Shalom.