Update update update. I want to update I really do. but instead I've read all the blog post my dear friends have posted while I've been to busy to sit down, read and relax. I also edited my last post since I couldn't figure out what I wanted to post about to all my loving readers in this new post, still only a thought but no words. The more readers that read the more a small part of me gets nervous that I'll disappoint. Don't mistake though I don't write for anyone but myself, this still is a window to me, hence the hesitation to write, the fear that rocks will be thrown through said window if the public doesn't like what they see. Some days I feel a magnate pulling me to write and pushing me to stay away as not to let down those with stones in hand, with that said you understand the slow start. Hmm, but when I think about the ridiculous things I do IN public I really should not have any fears about ANYthing I could write; I guess, but it's not the goofy things about me that I'm afraid of being scorned it's the shock at the more passionate side of me. I guess it could simply be called "the serious side." The side of me that dreams, writes, photographs. The side of me that still loves to swing at the park till my legs go to jello to chase away my thoughts. The side of my that isn't afraid to be alone, to lay under the stars alone while my mind races through thoughts so slowly they seem to be a stop motion picture as apposed to a film in high quality. Those thoughts when shared are the ones that stop people in my window and give suspicious looks. Guess it doesn't really matter. I am who I am, inside and out, through and through. My personality oozes out of each pore of me. I'll never change and with that I always find my push, the factor that actually gets me up here posting my musings, and finding myself along the way.
So what to share today. My passion for dance? the excitement of the music as your body finds the rhythm and each move pumps happiness through you. The flow of each rise and fall like the waves of the ocean soothing my nerves, riding me into that comfortable place where music and body create a beautiful picture, a masterpiece, that leaves both dancer and audience breathless. When footwork, posture and steps fall inline with beat, sound and soul the solution leaves you mesmerized. I'm not one who's usually counted "graceful" most find it hard to envision me waltzing circle after circle in a beautifully lit ballroom, shoulders back, head held high. Eyes lit also with the passion inside as my fuel, unmatched smile at my lips. Shocking to them is it that I took my ribbon for 6th place. This me most people don't believe exist. Because... of this me: The me that while preparing to leave for the week was cleaning up her side of the room doing the usual end of semester ritual of organizing, rearranging, and cleaning. This typical event takes a strange turn when I find a jawbreaker half the size of my fist, that had been left wrapped and untouched at the start of the semester. Sudden flood of excitement. (If you know me, that, that sudden flood of excitement usually foreshadows t-r-o-u-b-l-e, and loads of it.) I snatch the candy right off my desk. Old goal: prepare for next semester, new goal: find some way to eat this. Jawbreakers have always been delish, everyone knows that but what typically prevents them from being the world's greatest candy would be the extreme difficulty of eating them. Like a mad woman I begin this quest. I start hitting it gently with near by objects in the living room in hopes to crack, break and eat it. none such luck. My roommate sees my discouragement and while trying to stiffle a laugh suggest that I put my jawbreaker in a little plastic baggy, and throw it against the sidewalk outside. HOPE! refueled I follow through with, what at the time seemed like the perfect plan, a plan I chastised myself for not thinking of, it seemed flawless. whack. whack. whack. and the result? the first layer hardly chipped off like old paint: no cracks not even close. Re-entering the apartment fail attempt in hand I unbagg the indestructible candy. Now all my roommates are trying to resist the urge to laugh. The roommate who has witnessed the whole ordeal starts to clean up the kitchen for white glove (those of you in rexburg apartments know the horrors of white glove but those who don't it's the mandatory EXTREME cleaning fest you have to do between semesters at your apartment complex so you can check out only to check back in a week later. it's brutal. my quick explanation does not do it justice but you get the idea) out of ideas I resort to standing and deep thinking about what could be plan c, in operation: "obliterate and eat the jawbreaker." My thoughts are interrupted by her question "is this pan yours?" instantly and idea springs to mind "No it's not" Assuming it was one of the "treasures" left in the cabinet from who ever lived in our apartment before us. I triumphantly grab the pan, bag the candy, toss it to the floor, and start hacking at it like the pan was an ax. SUCCESS. 5 still pretty huge pieces but broken it was. hand the pan back to my roommate with the biggest grin ever imaginable. Happy as a clam! She looks at the pan the back at me. then laughs hold it up where I can see the dents that are now in the bottom of that poor metal pan. The room explodes into laughter. then she says "I was asking cause if it wasn't yours it was one of mine" not a treasure from the cabinet, glad she loves me. it's good we can all laugh at dented pans, and that she understand I'm just a bit far out.
I guess in the words of Meredith Brooks, "I'm a little bit of everything, all rolled into one." Kind of like a smoothie, which if you're wondering, are one of my favorite treats, I'm a blended mix of all the finest things life has to offer. Every trial, test, personality flaw, friend, moment, and word that have crossed me have in some way mixed into me, making me a little sweeter and a little crazier. Some days I'm the quiet kid, that you look at and wonder what they do outside of class, you know what I mean the kid in class that you see and can't picture outside of that class, silent and vague like a faded memory that never leaves that place. that if you ever saw in the grocery store it would throw off your day because they only seem right in that class room. Other days I'm the girl on the 3rd floor wearing nothing but yellow in my knock out highlighter bright rainboots, making those I came with laugh till their faces were red, and those around us trying to hide smiles, glances and laughs from the overheard conversations we're having. Either way I like to watch those around me, take in their reactions. But in the end I'm just a 5"5' (those who've read the 1st post quit laughing, 5"5' is my story and I'm sticking to it) head of curls in some mixed up crazy outfit I've invented, with a cheesy grin and quite a bit to to blurt out, expound and share with this world of eyes looking for more to life than the sorrows of the sunday paper. so read, read away but promise not to get too carree'd away.
xo carree
