Dear Stranger


Dear Stranger,

Thank you, and a million more times thank you. You were just like any other person in that store, but you have a kinder heart, you were the one to reach out. He was struggling to roll his wheelchair through the one door I held open, as his nerve damage was getting progressively worse in his hands as well.  I had told him I could either set my bags in his lap and push his chair or he could roll himself. Taking only one look at my bags, he began to struggle forward.People were lining up behind him, ready to be on their way. They all gave him that look, the one I hate. That look of pity and occasionally the one of disgust because he was different, because he was slower than they. You didn’t give him that look. Out of all those people, you,on your way into the store, held the other door open and told him he had a grand gateway now. When you saw him, saw his trouble you grabbed the chairs handles and starting pushing the chair. You looked at me and you asked me where my car was. You pushed him all the way there, back through the parking lot that you had just come from. You offered to help him in the car, but I had to deny your kindness. I would have felt awful had he strained your back or stepped on your foot as he often does to other people, unintentionally of course. You leaned down and you looked at his leg braces, you exchanged a knowing look with me and then put your hand on his shoulder. You called him buddy. You told him not to worry, it’s not always bad and then you let him feel your metal legs. Then you walked back into the store. I don’t know your name, I’ll more than likely never see you again, but thank you stranger, a million times thank you.


Ticking Ten Minutes Away

Ten minutes? What could I possibly write in ten minutes… Er well type rather. It only took one minute for me to realize then that ten minutes can very well change your life. In less than ten minutes I found out about my parent’s divorce. In less than ten minutes I made two of best friends in elementary school who I still see today.
Time will never correspond with the importance of a moment. Time will be drawn out over the bad times and short and sweet for the good times. Your life, your goals, they can all change in less than ten minutes. The best and worst moments of your life may come and go in less than a minute. The seconds passing, the minutes on the verge of goodbye, the hours I will soon sleep away, those are possibilities. The clock ticks with opportunity and tocks with change. Who we are and who we’ll become may very well change in the next ten minutes.

Red in the Face

How many people throw away a pen when it busts? Just starts leaking ink that stains EVERYTHING.

But of course, that’s so cliche. I took a skewer (basically a giant toothpick) and took the pen apart. I dipped it in the ink and I knew something was about to happen. The creative part of me made that inevitable. This pen had bigger potential than just the trash can, well its ink did anyway.


Before I even knew really what I was doing I just doodled with the ink, and viola! One of the best faces I’ve ever drawn. I suppose I had my blog in mind. Is that my identity? Am I red ink most people throw away? Will someone like myself take me and create something? I wonder what something I could create….


“Optimism is the madness of insisting that all is well when we are miserable.”


If I walked into my grandfather’s funeral smiling would you call me insane? Would my mother gasp in shock? Would my grandmother slowly grow a hatred for me? Would it all be forgiven if I joyfully exclaimed, “Well, I’m only being optimistic!” Of course not. I would be ridiculed for my smile.

If I wrote a school essay on all the benefits of suicide and the positive aspect of offing oneself would they hesitate to throw me in the looney bin or numb my soul with a pill because I was being positive?

Quite frankly, it’s irritating. If I’m always at the top of a hill, the only place to go is down. That is, unless I invent an airplane or hot air balloon to take me further up, but let’s be honest. I know absolutely nil about aerodynamics. My plane would crash.

I feel like optimism is just a way to disguise how unhappy these “happy” people are. At least pessimists can never get let down. They prepared for a flood and it barely even sprinkled. Everyone’s safe! No plane crashes, and if a flood ever did happen they’re already prepared.

Have you ever just blew your top off at someone. I mean screaming and throwing stuff? Unless the person punched you or the object boomeranged into you it probably felt pretty good. To just bawl at that funeral or matter of factly say, “Nope, I think suicide is stupid,” might just make you feel happy on the inside. If I walk around with only real smiles on my face, never a fake one, I feel happier. That smile, that one’s genuine. If I pull up the corners of my mouth for the sake of optimism that occasional real smile sucks. That muscle spasm of joy was obliterated. All the bubbly responses to aggravating questions murdered the J. All the forced laughter demolished the O, and the genuine smiling people who get so annoyed by the constant, cloying happiness, they will brutally violate , wreck, assassinate, butcher, annihilate, and dispatch the Y.

I love how most people deem elderly people as senile as if “senile” meant constantly mad at the world. No, sorry it means old, deteriorated. However, all these pissed off grandparents should yell the message loud and clear, the pessimist are outliving the optimist. Maybe it’s the plane crashes, over-enthused suicides, or the genuine smilers.


“Pessimism … is, in brief, playing the sure game. You cannot lose at it; you may gain. It is the only view of life in which you c an never be disappointed. Having reckoned what to do in the worst possible circumstances, when better arise, as they may, life becomes child’s play.”

          –Milena Jesenská

My Pessimistic Optimism

Forgotten Phrases

Do you remember,

That sunny day you said,

If tears occur,

To  ask for a helping hand?


Well, it’s storming.

The rain used fall on the outside,

But inside, it’s pouring.

I think you lied.

                                                                                                            “  “  “  “                                                                                                                             “  “  “

I’m drowning.

Suffocating on misery.

You could pull the plug to the drain.

You could end the agony.


Hand over your ears,

Is this how it always was?

Do tears fall unnoticed?


I’m Screaming,

But my words fall short.

I’m leaning,

But with no support.


Hear me out.

I’m begging you to listen.

Even when I shout,

My words are stretched thin.


The way out?

I’m well aware.

The preferred route,

Simply needs you to care.

Vague memories,

When Hell was only a word.

Suicidal cries,

Don’t seem so absurd.


Icy Snow,

Bitterly missed.

It numbed the pain I know.

Rain only creates Mist.

Even Perfection has Flaws

Maybe Disney had it all wrong. Maybe there is no true Prince Charming. My sister once told me love wasn’t about finding a perfect someone, it was finding someone whose flaws you could handle. I accepted that. Recently however, I came to realize how often your flaws are claimed to be accepted and then your prince tries to buff and paint over all the scratches he claimed to know and love. After this continuously happened I had to wonder, were my scratches THAT bad. Were my flaws so prominent that they could not be forgiven? He had flaws and they didn’t bother me. Maybe no one ever told him that no one is and no one will ever be perfect. I suppose one day he’ll learn. As these young men went to buffing and painting they lost their crown and it was given to someone else. Sometimes I was guilty of assuming I could live with flaws that I knew I could never accept. I broke a heart that way. It wasn’t a very serious flaw, he was just boring. I’ve yet to find my prince, maybe I’m looking too hard, but it doesn’t really matter. The little lesson my sister taught me soon came to apply to a lot of things, Happiness, for example. Being happy isn’t about making everything perfect. Being happy is about finding those disappointments we can live with and putting less energy into preventing them. It’s about chasing that one thing that makes the butterflies swirl around in your stomach and the little blue birds tweet melodiously and slightly cloying. After all, if there were no disappointments, happiness would have little value, the blissful moments would be ordinary and every guy would be a prince.

A Little Black Sharpie Heart

In fourth grade on St. Valentines Day I gave a boy I liked a Pirates of the Caribbean valentine. It was the same card I gave everyone else with the exception of one detail. The cards were primarily black and brown, and being both brave and cowardly, I drew a small heart in black sharpie in the corner of
The card, which was also conveniently black. Later he calmly approached me and told me he knew I liked him because of the heart. He didn’t sound pleased with that information so I lied. I told him my sister was drawing hearts in valentines. It was kind of a lame lie.

Four years later that boy became a good friend of mine. He is shy and really creative. He blushes at the simplest things, beet red.

Five years later that boy became one of my best friends. He’s smart. He became friendly competition. When the world beat me up he’d be there to help me up. When various relationships ended he was there to cheer me up.

Six years later that boy put his arm around me after he spent a few hours explaining the chemistry lesson I missed in school. It felt like he was drawing a small heart in sharpie on the black part of a valentine. I’m not sure if I want to see that heart yet and I hate that. It was easy to draw that heart when I had nothing to lose, but now I have a best friend dangling by thread.

Right now, I’m just hoping he doesn’t change his sharpie to a color that stands out on black. I want to figure things out first.