In Which I Am Alive

Hm....I love life. I love that I can go to a Shakespeare play for 2 dollars, with my best roommate ever. I love enjoying innovative ways of presenting age old words, and I love that I can be sucked into a story penned 400 years ago as if it were happening to my close friends. I love life for those moments when you're sitting in your seat. watching actors on a stage dance to one of your favorite songs, and all of the sudden, one of the actors is standing next to you, hand extended, and soon, you're on the stage, dancing, singing, smiling, and laughing...one hand clasped by a character from Shakespeare, the other held by your beloved friend. And..."I love love. I love being in love. I don't care what it does to me."

Dear Chacos, I'm sorry. I know I've only worn you once since October. I know I usually wear you regularly throughout the winter. Call me a wimp, call me unfaithful, call me forgetful. But I thought you'd be happy that I finally thought of you. It's been so warm the last couple of days that I missed you, and decided to finally pull you out and put you on today. As I rode my bike to campus, my feet felt so free, and yet so secure. You always make me feel so good, Chacos. And then, after class, I stepped outside to a blizzard. My feet would have frozen, had a handsome gentleman not given me a ride home. Point taken, Chacos. Karissa P.S. (I didn't know you could control the weather. Man, there's really nothing you Chacos can't do, is there?)

Why is it so hard for me to talk about how I'm really feeling? Why do I have such a hard time letting people in? Or...some people at least. And at some levels. I feel like to a certain extent, I'm a pretty open person. I'm all right with sharing my surface feelings, and even most below-the-surface feelings, goals, dreams and thoughts, with my close friends. But then, after a certain extent, I put up a wall. NOBODY gets past that wall. Ever. Except...what if I let someone..not..get past the wall but...maybe look through a tiny hole worn into the wall? And what if they understood what they saw and wanted to see more? If that happened....part of me would want to make the hole in the wall bigger, let them see more, just so I could know they understood, so I wouldn't have to try so hard to keep it secret. But...a big part of me would want to hurry and block up the wall, and maybe make the rest of the wall even stronger so no more holes would get worn into it. Beca...

Ethical dilemma: If I find a pen in a practice room, can I keep it? Or is that stealing? Should I leave it there and hope the owner comes back for it? That's what I'd do with bigger items or money...well, except change. Anything 25 cents or smaller is finders-keepers. Hmm... Well whether or not it's stealing, the fact of the matter is that after the past two days of practicing, I have 5 more pens than I did before.

Those words are the worst. Time to empty the inbox. Delete interactions with beloved friends, witty comments, exciting life updates, affirmations of love and affection. Just hit a button and it'll be like they never existed. I tried to put it off, really I did. Every time I was almost out of room, I would just delete my sent messages instead. I don't need to read what I said, I live with myself. But soon there were 5 messages in my sent and 993 in my inbox. And so I had to do it. I cleared a few less-beloved texts from my saved messages folder and transferred a couple hilarious, inspiring, and loving texts out from the inbox into saved messages. It felt like choosing which of my children could fit in the lifeboat. And then I pressed the button and all those words...all those meanings...were gone. It's ok though. I don't get to save my conversations in real life either.

February 14th. A day that will live in infamy forever...I mean...something...yeah.... At this point you're probably asking, "Karissa, what is this infamous day to which you refer?" Try and guess. "Oh, it's Lupercalia, the Roman fertility festival?" Indeed it is, but guess again. "Are you referring to St. Valentine's Day, the saints' day rife with fabricated legends about forbidden love?" Closer. "Oh, wait! I know this! You couldn't possibly mean....Singles Awareness Day?" Good job, reader. I have long made a point of broadcasting my scorn for this Hallmark Holiday. Tacky cards, obligatory candy, swooney girls, makey-outey couples...blegghhh...it's like everything I hate combined into one day. But....dagnabbit...there's this secret part of me that likes and appreciates it. Nothing like a little love, right? It all started when I was 16. In honor of the holiday, my friends and I decided to watch the...

Sometimes at work I get reallllllly bored. Here is the product of one such boredom episode. In just one more hour, I'll leave to devour Delicious grilled chicken at home. But till then I'm weary, though I try to look cheery, Manning the checkout alone. It's the slow afternoon times That drive me to force rhymes From my tired and overworked brain. No customers in sight. No task left but to write, Lest boredom drive me insane. I get kinda lonely, being the only one at this register desk. And so if you're seekin' A date for this weekend, Come visit me-I'll say Heck yes!