SHD

I make earrings.

Well, I make all sorts of jewelry, but mostly earrings.  And I love it.  And I have a million of them done, on cards, labeled, etc, just ready to sell.  So, I think now is the time to start that.  And while everyone just tells me "etsy!" I have no idea how to even think about beginning that process...you know?  SO, I'm calling on you, my fantastic readership, for two things.  If you know how to or have sold anything on etsy, I need the cliffs notes version on how to do that.  Or, if you just want to buy some earrings, let me know.  I can let you know what I have in terms of different colors, or make some especially for you.

Bethy

settle?

Sometimes I get really exhausted.

I was thinking about North Carolina last night, as I was falling asleep, and it occurred to me that the 10 months I spent there - living, working, doing online classes, hanging out with friends - in some respects it doesn't feel very real.  I remember leaving New Jersey after my JV year, and thinking that I couldn't possibly be moving again, and that although I didn't know what the hell I wanted to do with my life, or where I wanted to be, I was getting so. damn. tired.  Just so tired of moving, of uprooting myself, and that the excitement of packing everything up and going on yet another adventure was waning.

And since that move away from Newark in 2010, I've done it 3 more times.  Newark to Bethel, Bethel to Boone, Boone to Lacey, Lacey to Boston.

I'm tired.

I still love the adventure, but as I begin 2013 (with a little better idea of what I want to do with my life, but with the same amount of hopelessness in regards to where I can find a job like that), it also occurs to  me that making friends, feeling at home in each new place is getting harder.  And for me, who exists the best with expansive support systems, feeling that isolation, even in the midst of a super busy life, is hard.

I have this incredibly full life in Boston - school (classes at BU and online classes) and work are enough to take up more than 30 hours a day, but it's hard not to romanticize the days when I felt more included in a social group and less like someone who has friends at work and friends at school and friends who I can call occasionally to get a drink (if I ever have the time) but no one who can fit in all these places.  I miss having people around me who know enough about all the different facets of my life to understand stories I tell about my horrendous day at work, or that time I got blackout at the bar and fell down on the sidewalk, or how I'm having a hard time handling the workload in Anthro. (true story - this class hasn't even started yet, but we got the syllabus, I'm terrified.)

And this work is probably of my own making.  And I hope that as 2013 surges ahead, I'm able to help myself do this - I can't hide under the mask of "this is my first semester and I'm just trying to get the lay of the land" anymore.  I'll need to own up to the feelings of "I miss my sister" and "I miss my boyfriend" and "I miss my high school/college/Ireland/Bethel/JVC friends" because they have existed in their contexts, and perhaps I just need to buck up and create a context for Boston.  I know that there are people out there in this big city that love me, and I know that, in this respect, I need to push past the exhaustion - maybe just this one more time.  (hahaHA ok, let's be real - one more time??  Even I'm not delusional enough to believe that...)

Forever on the run,
Bethy

A very non-Christmassy poem I wrote on Christmas

And the answer might be…

Because these are things that happened,

These are moments that were real.

And erasing the proof doesn’t erase the past

Or the memory

Or the experience.

They still exist in the history of the universe –

Forever to contain the potential of the moment.

I am grateful the memories stopped when they did,

That things were not prolonged.

You served me and I tried to serve you

As a valuable life lesson –

One that, while short, was not always sweet

While fast-paced, never seemed harried.

One completely necessary for the freedom

To move on

To move up

To seek something more

Something better.

And to realize the value of you

And be able to say thanks

Instead of reaching for curses and slurs to protect my pride.

You showed me love but it was not the love I needed

You showed me respect but it came with strings

You showed me how to be who I am with someone who had expectations for me as well.

And there is no repayment.

There were tears,

There were drunken phone calls.

There were yelling matches and whispered promises.

And there is now quiet

And peace.

To say Thank You.

I’m Done.

And Goodbye.

Same Love

In our last class on Monday, my policy and systems professor, who is absolutely amazing (and one of the most academically recognized and respected people I know) spoke to the class about the importance of the food systems analysis we'd been trying to understand all semester.

She spoke about human rights and human right to food and water.  She's been working on high profile cases for years, and is well known in human rights advocate circles.

And then she spoke passionately about the civil rights movement, and how she had watched it, from the beginning, and seen it transform the world.

And all I could think of was this:

I hope that some day, and some day soon, the pockets of people that believe that others cannot love whoever they want will not exist.  Until that happens, I will fight for love - anyone and everyone's love.

Love, Bethy

PROcrastinator!

Anyone who knows me will not be surprised by this, but for all of the rest of you, let it be known that I fully admit that I have the potential to procrastinate for an EXCRUCIATINGLY long time.

...and now that I've cleared my inbox, send emails and/or facebook messages to pretty much everyone I know, scoped out some of my college acquaintances' wedding photos, drank my entire cup of coffee, and gone to the bathroom, I am ready to start finishing my paper that was due an embarrassing number of days ago.

FML.

different time, same place

No one talks about
the chances you didn't take
the things you didn't say
the "wait..." that never came

No one seems to realize
the hesitation is sometimes
the most important part
of it all

That it's hard to say
Words that stick in your throat
don't ever come out as easily
as you want them too

trying to use "I need"s and "I feel"s
in order not to offend
when all you really want to do is scream
and shake
and sob
and know why

Being here before doesn't make it easier
if anything, it's harder to look around and realize
you're back
and the landscape hasn't changed

Still stuck
still ending up in this place
even though circumstances couldn't be more different
the question asks itself:

Is it me?

one of THOSE posts...

you know, those really annoying ones where the person is all "I'm mad at this person for something", and then you're all "oooohh, what happened??" and then they're all "I don't want to talk about it", or even better "omg.  so crazy.  I'll message you..."

Um HELLO?!?!?!  You're posting all that shit all over the internets and NOW you're trying to be bashful about what the FUCK you're talking about??

Well, ok, this post won't be that bad... (I hope...)

BUT I do have some questions about how people my age (roughly 25...ish...ok, let's say people in their mid 20s to mid 30s) communicate intensions in this day and age.  I don't know exactly when, in the last few years I have noticed that I've become both more aware of my strong personal feelings about people and circumstances, and that I've become less nervous/uneasy about sharing those feelings with others (especially when it involves them).  I've been told that that's just "growing up", and that everyone goes through that.

As a 25 year old single, straight woman, I have found that there are MANY young men my age who do NOT subscribe to knowing how they feel and sharing that openly.  It's frustrating.  I'm ready to live my life openly in that way - when I know something, and I feel something for real, I'm gonna fucking say it.  And I'm gonna fucking mean it.  Don't waste my time with bullshit, and, more than that, if you don't have something real to say, please, please PLEASE for the love of God, don't say anything at all.

I know that the stereotype of women is that we read things into everything.  Yes.  We do.  Get fucking used to it.  If you say certain things, I will think that you mean something to that end.  And come ON!  This is not just me, this is a lot of people...

I guess just all I wanna say is "what the fuck?"

And also, that I'm sorry for this turning out to be one of those posts...it was.  I admit it.  And now I'm done.  (And I promise I'll never do it again, I swear - haha)

Love, Bethy