The Autograph Book

I found this old autograph book once. I paid three dollars for it at a quirky little shop full of odds and ends. Something made me want to buy it. The front page is peeling, and the paper is brown and crumbling with age, but I bought it anyway. I took it home and I felt like I was holding a part of someone else’s life in my hands. Inside are well-wishes from many people. Barbara and Pete wish the happy couple many more years of bliss together on their twenty-fifth anniversary. Page after page is filled with scrawly, hand writing, celebrating the unknown couple’s many years together. I envy John and Jane Doe for what they had. I used to think that I was going to be single all of my life, and I was okay with that. Then I met this boy. He made me feel special. When he held my hand the first time, I felt that I was suddenly complete. I hadn’t realized that I had been incomplete until that moment. After that, I knew that I would never again be happy alone, or with just some guy that I barely knew, on a random date here and there. That had been my life before. I thought it was all I needed. I was wrong. I found out that there could be so much more in my life.

Needless to say, I fell in love. We made plans. We talked about marriage as if it was for sure. However, if there is one thing in life that is certain, it is that nothing is for sure. We had problems, big problems. Eventually, these big problems became insurmountable problems. I woke up every morning feeling alone and neglected. I was sad. I no longer trusted the boy that I loved and it broke my heart to know that my perfect love was not so perfect anymore. When I could no longer stand my own tears, the loneliness, and the fact that there was nothing holding up our relationship anymore, I ended things. That was the singularly most difficult thing I have ever had to do in my entire life. It was tougher than the time I had the change the tire. At least that time, dad came to my rescue. Dad can’t help this time. It was tougher than the time I wrote two ten-page exam essays in three hours. At least at that time, I had so much knowledge behind me that I was confident in what I was doing. This time, I was not confident. I was making my decision with my knowledge and his track record, while my heart was trying to decided which way would cause it less pain. I don’t like my decision. I’ve cried and screamed out-loud today so many times that my eyes have gone dry. I’ve cried out his name in hopes that in some cosmic miracle he’ll hear me, and he’ll call, so that maybe, just maybe, we can set things right somehow. Even so, I’m afraid to talk to him. I don’t want to hear his tears anymore, because they hurt more than my own.

What is wrong with this world? I always believed that when two people are in love, they’re supposed to be together. What is wrong with me? Is protecting myself more important than love? Is love more important than trust? I honestly don’t have the answers to those questions right now. My head is saying, “You can’t build a relationship without trust,” but my heart is saying, “Please! I beg of you! Fix this before it’s too late! I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT HIM!” So, I cry, and I scream,and my mind tries to tell my heart that trust is vital to a relationship...but my heart doesn’t listen. It’s crying and screaming too loudly to hear. I wish it would listen... Poor heart...it didn’t know that making a decision that is supposed to protect it, would hurt it more than it ever hurt before. Maybe it’s like those shots you get as a child. It hurts now, but it’s going to protect you in the future. My heart won’t believe this. It just keeps crying out his name...begging me like a little child, to have him back. Oh heart...I want that too...

So please, if YOU are reading this, and you’ve made it this far, consider doing something for me. If you love me, if you really love me, don’t let this happen. I think I’m like a lot of girls when they say, “it’s over.” Sometimes, we just want you to come after us. Sometimes, as girls, we just want to be rescued. We cry so loudly, and slam doors in your faces because we just want you to show us how much you love us by knocking one more time.

When we last talked, I told you that the ball was in your court now. All this time you’ve been saying that it was my choice, that it was up to me. I’m tired of it always being up to me. I think that’s part of what killed our relationship. I don’t want to always be in charge, always calling the shots. If this was the only way to wake you up and to let you see that I want YOU to do some of the work too, then fine. Here it is. It’s your turn. I’ve been carrying the weight of this decision ever since we last had a problem. Now it’s your turn. I’ve done all I can with what you’ve given me. I asked you to write down how you thought you were going to make things better. Well, you never did that. I asked for one small, simple thing, and you couldn’t even do that. Maybe you didn’t think it was worth it, that I was worth it. So here, I present it to you again, rather, I beg you again: please, don’t give up. I had to end things because I didn’t know how to fix them. I’ve got things to work on within myself, and so do you. Please, consider this as a “break” when we each take time to better ourselves as individuals. In the meantime, I don’t know how you can do it, but please, try to win me back. I love you, and I want to be with you. I want to be with you more than anything, but I can’t be with someone that I don’t trust. Do something, anything, to make that better. I’ve done all I can. It’s up to you now. If you accept my challenge, I’ll be waiting to somehow find out about it, even though I know it may take some time. If you do not, I will know that you never loved me as I thought you did, and I will know that as painful as it is, I made the right decision in ending our relationship. For the first time in my life...I’m wishing to be proven wrong. Please, prove me wrong.

For those few people who followed my "Drew" stories...

A Farewell to Drew




Somehow, you aren’t a real person anymore.

You are a mere figment of my imagination.

Somewhere along the line, I imagined you.

I certainly imagined the adventures we had together.

Even so, that is all right.

I never really needed you,

Like I thought I did.

I made so much out of you,

Even shared you with the world.

Your name is published, along with mine,

Yet…

You were never really there, were you?

Good bye, Drew.

It’s been fun.

Things that have gone into the Facebook Graveyard

Things that have gone into the Facebook Graveyard. RIP:


Super Pokes. Remember those? Facebookers used to use them to flirt with other facebookers. A hug was a good thing, a kiss was even better, and a wink had a meaning all of its own...

Bumper Stickers. You could display them all the way down on your profile, making your profile about two miles long, and very colorful. It was the perfect means of expression. The only downside was that you felt compelled to accept all bumper sticker gifts...even the lousy ones that had nothing to do with you.

Flair. Another version of Bumper Stickers...only rounder and placed on a virtual corkboard. These were quite fun and expressive if you could weed through the Twilight and Jonas Brothers ones...

The Wall-to-Wall button. Every now and again it resurects itself and one can use it, but in the past, it was always there so that you could directly post on someone's wall. Now we mostly just have lousy comment buttons.

Notifications for useless applications. The good part was you would get on facebook and see over 100 notifications, and for 1.5 seconds feel special and good about yourself. The bad part was that 98 of the notifications said, "Bob said something about you on Friend Game! See what he said HERE!" Once you clicked on it, you would have to play the game for 62 hours straight, answering 2,567 questions before it let you see that Bob thought that you have a nice sense of humor. This is one of the lost Facebook items that is missed very little...

Classic Novels and the Great Loss of the American Attention Span (in under 300 words)!

Well! It’s been several days since I’ve written anything. I have a slight sense of guilt over that. Today I have only had one student so far, so I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. I’ve spent that time mostly reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, and googling Oscar Wilde’s biography out of pure curiosity. After reading his bio, it is clear that he led an… interesting life. However, his writing is impeccable and maintains my interest. Like many classic, Victorian novels, the beginning drags on and nearly lulls one to sleep, but is worth continuing because the middle and the ending reveal great surprises and plot twists that modern novels lack entirely. There is something so fascinating about classic literature. Although such novels never give the reader the instant gratification that we all crave nowadays due to television shows, movies on demand, high-speed internet, and such, the classical authors knew how to produce suspense, emotion, and dramatic plot twists without being pathetic or soap opera- like. I wish I could write like that. I used to be able to sit down for hours and focus on a piece of work, letting my creative juices flow. After college, when I had to learn how to condense my words into a single, 3 page essays, I lost much of my attention span and my ability to write for long periods of time. I wish I could get that back, yet here I sit writing a blot, interrupted by frequent visits to Facebook. Who knows, maybe if I just keep writing, perhaps someday I’ll still be able to write that “Great American Novel.”

Visits with Friends, and a Quiet Day at Work

Today has had a good start to it! I left for work a bit early, in hopes of seeing a couple of friends who recently returned from a trip to Ireland. I was so pleased to see them both! I’ve missed them, and it was fun to live vicariously though their traveling tales. I was also extremely pleased when I saw that they bought me a present! It’s quite lovely, and very Celtic!


After that I still had some time to burn before work, so I called my friend Tess, and talked to her for a few minutes. We had a nice girl chat, and it was just good to hear her voice. It’s just little things like that that make my day! She’s a very lucky girl and is going to a Katy Perry concert tonight, with tickets that she won yesterday on a radio show. I told her to take lots of pictures!

Other than that, I have had a pretty quiet day. Once again, I have been visited by no students, and have edited no papers. However, I did have lunch with my coworker and his girlfriend. After lunch, my coworker’s girlfriend and I had a nice long chat about all sorts of fun subjects, so that was pleasant.

Now a frightening storm has rolled in, and the sky is raining buckets of water. I’m hoping it will be like most summer storms and will only be ominous for a short time and then will pass by, leaving us with clear skies and greener grass. However, the sky has yet to lighten up. Nothing left for me to do today but read a little more of “The Picture of Dorian Gray” and wait to see if any students will eventually pass through our doors. But, from the looks of things outside, it is unlikely that anyone will.

A Blog About Ballet...(because it's a dull day here...)

My mother paid for me to take ballet lessons when I was ten years old. I was going to be a ballerina. Of that, I was sure. I was enrolled at the best ballet school around, and they took dancing very seriously. The teachers trained each and every student to be primas. The girls mostly came from ten-cent millionaire families, and all went to private schools. Some were more stuck up than others, but we managed to coexist.


I wasn’t a very good dancer. I could hardly remember the steps, or in what sequence the steps should be performed. I am dyslexic and struggled with telling my left from my right, and knowing which foot to start on, or what arm corresponded with what leg. My only asset was that I was flexible and at ten years old, had the legs of a twenty-year-old woman. This particular asset earned me the nick name of “Legs” among the teachers. But even these assets couldn’t help me keep up with all of the girls who took 5 or more ballet classes a week and just had a natural knack for dancing.

When I was thirteen, I was allowed to start taking my ballet lessons on Pointe. My parents took me to a dance store and bought me the most expensive, not to mention painful, pair of shoes I have ever owned. They were beautiful, creamy-pink, satin toe shoes. I liked the look of my legs when I stood up in them. My teacher reminded me that they were not just shoes; they were an extension of the body.

That year, things changed. My teacher became ill, and ceased to teach classes while she was receiving treatment for her cancer. Other teachers came in to take her place, but they were not the same. One instructor was unaware that as beginners on Pointe, that we were not supposed to be on our toes for more than thirty minutes. She worked us in our Pointe shoes for an hour and a half. No one said anything, because we all wanted to be brave ballerinas, like the “big girls,” as we referred to any one of the classes ahead of us. One thing I was always taught during my ballet years was, “Smile! Don’t ever let anyone know you are in pain.”

I dropped out after that year. My teacher was still ill, and would not be returning anytime soon, and I wasn’t a very good dancer. The childhood allure of being a great ballerina no longer had the same appeal to me, nor was it a future possibility. I knew I’d never be a prima ballerina. I accepted it, and left ballet behind, along with the painful toe shoes, the tiny black leotards, and the worn-out pink slippers.

I didn’t touch ballet again until this year, over eight years later, when I was asked to be in a local production of Brigadoon. When I accepted, I had no idea that I would be re-immersed in ballet. Suddenly, I found myself thrown into both group dances and solos where I had to arabesque, plie, and rond de jambe. At first, I struggled, just as I had when I was a child. I couldn’t remember what step to perform next, or which foot to land on when I jumped. It was a dyslexic’s nightmare. Even so, I had missed ballet after all those years, and a small part of me wanted to do this, and do it right. I wanted to prove to my inner child that I still could be the ballerina that I always dreamed of being.

Then I began to practice. I practiced over and over and over. I took my digital camera to rehearsal and I filmed the choreographer, I filmed my fellow dancers. I filmed anyone who was willing to dance in front of my camera. I practiced backstage with my dance partner, and the other girls. I rehearsed at home in my kitchen. When I realized that I needed more space, I took my laptop out to the garage, opened up all the doors, swept the floor, and put on my worn-out slippers. Daily, I went through my dances until I knew them by heart. Every day before the show started, I rehearsed on stage when no one was around. I had so much help from my friends in the cast who never said no to my question, “Do you want to rehearse this dance with me?”

Finally, it paid off. For the first time in my life, I felt confident in my dancing. I’ve never felt that way before, even when I was taking lessons. This time around, something just clicked. Certain steps that I could never do before, such as a grand jetes, pirouettes, and shanay turns, I could do now effortlessly. I’ll never forget the way it feels to twirl across the stage, or completed a full leaping grand jete. So many times in the past, I had dreamed of leaping across the stage with perfect ease. In the dreams, it had felt like flying. Now, I was living that dream, and nothing could equal that feeling.

Weekend Fun and Writer's Block

Well, it’s back to work after a very nice weekend! I worked a little, and even got to hang out with some awesome people. On Friday, my friend from my former school made a the trip from Virgina to see some of us. We hung out at the mall for a little while and pretty much goofed off. We tested out (jumped on) all of the beds in Boscovs, watched a little of Apollo 13 in the Entertainment section (all of the Boscovs fun ended when the employees continued to follow us within a few feet radius), and made fun of all the flamboyant jackets and suits in one of the mall’s menswear stores. He even went into Victoria’s Secret with us girls as we tested out the perfumes and looked at the make up.


After that, I went home and watched movies with my family and my boyfriend. We finally got to see the final installment of the glorious Shrek saga, and watched the romantic comedy, “Hitch.” I enjoyed both of them, but didn’t think that Shrek was as good as some of the earlier ones. As for “Hitch,” I always enjoy Will Smith…even if the movie was made several years ago. So, I was really glad to see the boyfriend, and all in all, it was a very good day…and night.

On Saturday, I touched base with my favorite Canadian, Tess. Even though we didn’t get to talk much, it was just very nice to hear her voice. It’s hard to believe that one of my dearest friends is so far away that I can’t just hop in the car and go visit her whenever I want to, like I used to do. But it’s alright. We keep in very good communication.

Other than those bright moments in my weekend, and work, I attempted to work on a short story. It’s a sequel to one I’ve already written. I’m struggling with a mild case of writers block and don’t really have much of an idea where to go to next. Perhaps I will start putting up parts of my stories sometime…what do you think? Yea? Nay?