Slacking.

Hey followers!

I am soooo sorry I haven’t been posting. For some reason I keep thinking I have been busy, but we all know; that’s no excuse. When I really think about it, I haven’t been as busy as I wish I could have been.

Let me catch you up on a few things. By list of course, and I promise to hit the topic individually, soon!

1. I can freely drop the “Army” subject once in a while to my family -just not at the dinner table. I guess you can say that’s  progress… *shrugs shoulders*

2. This year was my first VEGETARIAN Thanksgiving. …wait, did I ever tell you that I was? Boy, do we have lots to talk about!

3. Renewing for my EAC has been a pain in my ass and apparently everyone else’s ass too.

4. I have managed to stay unfocused with school. *rolls eyes* I know, I know.

5. Why is there a huge space btwn 3 & 4. bleh, the obsession will now control my life.

6. Boyf and I have been on some pretty good terms lately. ..if ya catch my drift. (; {not every wink is a dirty wink, ya nasty.}

7. I am going to start my own YouTube channel.

8. I’m seeing my lawyer soon about my decision to join the Army. *happy dances*

There. I had to leave it on an even number, because odd numbers are just… well, odd!

Keep writing bloggers and keep reading fellow SWS-ers.

-danna

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Some just ask too many questions. -Personal

What do I cherish the most?

People: I cherish those people who believe in me. Those who believed in me from the start, not just when I began to better myself.

Places: I cherish the Tower that over looks Downtown Kansas City. Its breath taking, goose bump causingly beautiful. It make you cherish life.

Things: I cherish books. This is my favorite response. I cherish books because they take me to a good place. They take me to a better person. A better character. I cherish books because when I’m losing myself, I began to find me through out the pages. I cherish words. I cherish writing utensils. Words come out better through my hands than through my mouth. Life makes sense when I write.

What is the biggest secret that you have?

I told you, I don’t have secrets. I have untold stories. Plus, if I had “the biggest secret” I would ruin that with just telling you, wouldn’t I?

What is one of your best untold stories?

That’s better. The fact that I was once capable of loving someone as much I loved one before. -that is my best, yet.

Loved? Why past tense?

Because. Love only finds you once. Once, if you’re even lucky for that.

So you don’t think you’ll ever be able to love again?

Yes. I do believe I will, one day. But I’m not so sure I’ll be able to love so bold, so hard, so fearless as I once did?

Who’s this lucky guy?

See, that’s why its an untold story. Moving on?

What makes you the way you are?

Other people’s lives. Lives I don’t want to have. I try to live the opposite. But not too good.

Biggest regret?

Letting go.

What did you let go of?

I don’t remember. I’ll let you know if it comes back to me.

*confused look* But how would you know what it is when it does come back?

Because it’ll be the best moment in my life. Who wouldn’t be able to know that?

What do you want to accomplish before you ‘kick the bucket?’

I want to live. Not just live, but live.

What do you want for your future?

I want to be like the lady checking out at my register. She was about 50-60 odd years old and bought a lot of portraits. “I’m just having fun.” She said when i asked her how she was doing. “I’m spending all my money. In a good way.” Gosh, the light in her soul was blinding me as she spoke. “I’m still trying to figure out what I wanna be when I grow up.” And she smiled. I want to be like her. Happy. Full of life. …butttt with a doctorate degree in neurology. But I do want to be happy.

If you could tell yourself something, what would it be?

I talk to myself everyday. You’ll see my driving and the radio won’t be on because I’ll be having a full convo with myself. I’m such a weirdo. But I beg myself to believe in me. To not trust in the future -too much. To live a day at a time, but with a small plan for tomorrow, just in case JC wants to give me another day. I mean, we gotta plan ahead a little, right?

Tell me anything about you.

I’m a sophomore in college that will soon join the army. I am starving for success and I will do just about anything to get there. I’m a control freak at times and I like things done the way I picture them. I’m open minded to just about everything. I’m the type who will drive hours just to keep the convo going between me and I. I believe there is good and bad in everybody. I believe one day I’m going to be the person I have always been chasing.

What do you believe in?

I thought the last question was the wrap up to this interview. I believe this question does not fit in and calls for a whole other post.

-Danna

Dirty Mirror

Why do we rely on reflections to rate our beauty? Why do we trust so much in a reflection? Dirty mirrors make us think dirty things about ourselves. Why do we let a simple reflection determine whether we’re ‘pretty’ enough, ‘skinny’ enough, or even good enough? Why do we allow ourselves to be wounded by our reflection? To be stabbed at something that just stares back at us?

Darling, you’re good enough. You’ll always be.

Tell me who taught you that your beauty can be determined by a dirty mirror. Tell me who it was that put that filthy thought in you.

A dirty mirror will never be able to go into your soul and tell you that you are perfect. Nor will a clean mirror. Because honey, no piece of glass could ever be clean enough to show you how truly beautiful you really are.

So, if you don’t like your reflection; its okay. Don’t buy another mirror. Simply clean it. And I don’t mean the mirror, sweetheart. Clean the reflection. Clean the soul in that reflection. Clean it from those thoughts, because you are beautiful. No matter how dirty you feel, you are truly, amazingly gorgeous. And I promise you, that smile of yours, gosh, it kills us all.

Think beautiful, talk beautiful, be beautiful -wait, you already are.

Girl, put the mirror away. You have it all.

-Danna

The Public Library

I really was trying my hardest not to type in WordPress in my URL. I  need to do homework. Especially the 4 essays that are on my prep list that my professor wanted to give us the 2nd week of classes. I need to knuckle down, man. I was trying so hard to not go on WordPress, but being here in the public library, there are just so many things to blog about. Don’t get me wrong, public libraries are awesome when home is too loud to study or when the patio is just too damp to concentrate. In that case, the public library is the best friend.

So I sit here. Trying my best to do my research paper on C. Chavez and the Grape Boycott when this extremely handsome, well suited, nicely shaven, deliciously smelling business man props himself right next to me. Right next to this exact computer. Briefcase and all, he sits and with a beautiful grin on his face he turns his head and grins. AT ME. Agh. 

I cannot help myself but flush and smile this corny little girl smile, like I just heard daddy say he’s taking me to the carnival. I’m helpless. Suddenly I find myself typing at a slower pace than my normal 79 wpm. 

“Can I borrow your pen?” (!!!! :O !!!!) Here I am smiling like a total idiot as I stare at my pen not even believing he’s talking to me. “It writes in purple, ” I say embarrassed. Dammit Danna, you need to start carrying the professional colored pens, my conscience growls“I think my boss will be amused.” I hand it to him and in a not so creepy way, I stare at him as he sways the pen left to right as he writes. He hands me my pen while barely brushing his arm against mine and says, “Thanks, very smooth,” 

Is he talking about my pen or my skin? Definitely not your skin, you weirdo. She says again.

I freeze and stare at my screen and from the corner of my face I see his grin. He licks his lips and releases a chuckle. Instinctively, I look at him; regretting it the minute I do. 

“You’re a fast typer.” 

“‘Typer’ isn’t a word. Thanks…,” Dammit. Why did I just correct this handsome, important looking man? Do I have to ruin everything? He turns as he arches his thick dark eyebrows at me and says, “You see this suit? When a professor says a word, don’t correct him. Especially when its a well-given compliment to a very pretty girl.”

OMG. Someone wake me up! …wait, he’s a professor? WHAT? he’s so young looking and so… so hot. 

I smile and I keep typing slower than ever. He notices, “Please, don’t slow down. You’re pretty fast. I like.” Woah.

People stare and I flush. I can feel my olive skin tone turn red. He winks. 

Oh my. 

I try to ignore him as I dig in my back pack in hopes of escaping from this man who is absorbing my concentration. “Did you find it?” LOL I laugh out of nervousness and I scream to my conscience, KILL ME. “What? Huh? Find what?” I say blankly and not to mention, stupidly. “What ever it is that your desperately in search for, ” he smiles that awfully, incredible grin.

“Where do you teach at?” I have no idea where that came from, but I needed to get him off my back. “I’m an online professor.”

“You have to dress that way to teach kids online?

“No, I have to dress this way if I want to see a very pretty girl like you.”

I die. Right there. I stare at him as he tries to find the words that are trying to escape from my lips. I just smile. And again, I flush. All awkwardly and such. You’re such a dork. “T-th-thank you. i studder. 

“What are you studying?”

“English. Grape Boycott.”

“Oh, very well then. History and English, my favorite.”

“Mhm,” is the only thing that I could muster out. 

“How long until you leave?”

Am I annoying him? “Soon. As soon as I get more info on Cesar Chavez.”

“Oh,” he raises his eye brows again, killing me once more.

I try to block him out as he pulls out his iphone. I continue to type and he interrupts me by clearing his throat.

Staring at him, I grab my water bottle and wait for whatever he about to say with that profound look on his face. 

“I hear the coffee shop across the street has great coffee. Care to join, miss.”

“Please don’t do that. I’m Danna.”

“Danna. Fits you. Would you care to grab coffee? I can help you gather some info on Mr. Chavez’s impacting movement.”

I look at him. Part of me is so ecstatic and fluttery, and my conscience part is annoyed, trying to just get work done. I grab my pens and notebooks and put them in my bag. 

“I hear the Espresso is great,” I say, even surprising myself. 

“Espresso it is.”

We both get up and I see the faces of the other people. Oh man.

“Wait, who are you? I didn’t even bother asking. I’m so sorry!” I say so embarrassed. 

“it’s the suit, I’m telling you. It’s Luc.”

Luc. Luc the most handsome, well-suited, delicious smelling business man I have ever met in the public library. I follow him out the door to our cars. And I definitely cherish the moment. He holds open the door for me along with the crowd coming in and out. I watch as he moves so delicately yet so impacting. Greeting the strangers that look at him looking at me. We walk in noisy silence and I can’t help but stare at his dark complexion as it glistens with the sun rays. 

“Danna… Danna…” I open my eyes and I see Meredith, the cute little librarian softly touching my shoulder, begging me to wake. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I guess the Grape Boycott wore me out,” I say, turning my head towards the computers in hopes of finding Luc.

“Are you almost finished? You’ve been here since this morning non-stop studying, you need to rest. You work in 2 hours.” I glance at my phone. 14:47. 

“I better go. It’s a good 35 minute drive. Thank you,” I say, still confused.

“Have a great day Danna, get some coffee or something. Take care.” I frown as I wave, “See you tomorrow, Ms. Mer.

Disappointingly I pack up my things and start for the exit.

An espresso sure sounds yummy.

😉

-Danna

 

 

What Does Love Mean to Me?

Love. What a lousy word for such a strange feeling. But really, its not just a feeling. I must confess it is also a state of being. A place. A person. A thing. Love is a noun, but much more. Love is where you want to be. Where you need to be. Where your heart wants you at. Love is everything and anything you want and do not want. Love is so much more than we can handle. Yes, we. 

Love is a confusing place. You don’t really know when you’re there, until you actually fall on your ass and bruise your heart. You don’t ever really know when it happened, it just did. Some way, some how.

“We fall in love like we fall asleep. Slowly, then all at once.”

John Green. He was so right, and still is.

Love is a place where you don’t mind the the rhythm being off beat. Where you can be there all day to hear the waves crash onto shore and splash you with the coldest water, only to hit you back into reality. That’s what love is. Love is cold, but yet warm. Too cold to make you bitter and too warm to burn your insides. Only you get to decide what love truly is, and how it will make you. Inside and out.

To me, love is when you can sleep at night knowing you have the best out there. Love is satisfaction. Its illumination. Its charm. Love is never wanting to let go even though you know someday you’ll have to. Love is hand holding until your hands sweat, until your knuckles turn red and the in between of your fingers become sore. Love is not giving a damn what is done in public. What is said, or what is expressed. Love is a place we’re all afraid of entering, because we all know one day we’ll have to exit.

We are afraid to love because we are afraid to hate. We are afraid to hate what we once loved-who we once loved.

Love is giving everything to someone – and I mean EVERYTHING; more than you thought you had…knowing that it is very possible you won’t get the same in return. Love is getting out there and doing that something no one would have seen you do. Love is a place we want to test all of our senses. A place where we die to be in, yet live for it. Love is thinking there is a happily ever after. Love is not giving to shits of what the outsiders say or hear. Love is a rumor waiting to be investigated Love is knowing you will get hurt but there you are swimming with the sharks. That’s what love is. Careless. Wild. Free. Scary. Who am I kidding? Love is fucking frightening. Its a place we are too young to be in, too old to try, and just right to give it a shot.

Love is nothing written above. Love is what YOU want it to be. But to me, Love is a place I am dying to go to. A psalm I am dying to listen to. A taste my tongue is dying to savor. A smell my nostrils are waiting to come by.

Love is wanting to be wanted. Love is being desired in all ways shapes and forms.

Love is my friend, but yet my enemy. Love is my life, but yet it kills me. Love is not being able to control the flames coming out of me. Love is nothing that everyone says it is. Love is something no one could ever give an explanation to. No one, but yourself.

Love is waiting for you to let it in, no matter how much time you fall and get bruised. Love is precious. Hang on to it. And if you don’t know if what you have is love, hang on to it more. Because love is the unknowing.

Love only hits you once. Once. Only if you’re lucky. Only.

TBC…

-Danna

I Can’t Think of a Proper Title

10 burpees, 40 squats, 50 lunges.

It’s 2:11 a.m. where I’m located, and I can’t seem to fall asleep, although my eyes are refusing to open wider.

I’ve cleaned the family room, cleared the book case, cleansed my face, and brushed my teeth…TWICE. My body is tired and so is my mind; its so tired that it can’t rest. Ever had that? Ever been so tired that you just can’t fall asleep? Geeze, now that I think about it: I have that a lot. I just lay here thinking of what I should have said to the Sprint sales rep that gave me “the look”. I lay here pondering Mother’s reaction when I surprised her with the Galaxy 5S. Most importantly, I spend hours contemplating what I could’ve, should’ve, would’ve done to make my day brighter, less bitter, more interesting, less dull. Then I beat myself up for not waiting a couple more minutes to hold the door open for Mr. Slow Poke coming out of IHop. I stay on the thought of how last week I should have paid more attention to the Son & Dad at Family Dollar not able to afford their frozen Pizza.

Insomnia. That’s what they call it.

I promise I don’t have it, not clinically diagnosed with it, I mean. But I do confess that I get extra thoughtful at these hours. Maybe its the silence that wakes my thoughts up. If you really think about it, silence is kinda noisy and annoying. When I’m quiet and I have nothing or no one around me, I hear the silence making my head go crazy. That dead air. That forever going beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Do you ever hear that? Or am I really out of my mind?

At these hours, my thoughts jump from one subject to the next. I guess its only these hours that my mind wants to actually function. I think about the things I don’t want to think about, the things I told myself I never would and the things I should never think of. If ya get me.

72 wpm. My fingers are aching but my mind is demanding to keep typing. I promise you I’m tired. The thought of having to be at work at 6 a.m. is even more dreadful, but here I am letting my finger tips dance along the keyboard. Here I am thinking I should of said everything and anything I wanted to, to that sales rep.

You know, these are the hours that I think about my real dad the most. Though I promised myself I would let it go, these are the hours that beg to hang on to him a little tighter.

These are the hours that make me smile, but blur my vision with tear full eyes at the same time.

I close my eyes and I see things I don’t wanna see. I remember things I told myself I’d forget.

Dammit. I should of waited at the door for Mr. Slow Poke even though he was taking his sweet ass time to the door. I should of stopped organizing the stupid ChapStick flavors in alphabetical order so I could of paid for the frozen Pizzas. But I can’t now. It’s too late. The boy went home without his dinner.

3:12 a.m. now.

They call it insomnia.

-danna

Dreams

They’re supposed to be sweet, mellow, nice, and soft sounding. Most of all, dreams should be comforting.

Mine aren’t.

Not with real Dad in them.

Each dream I dream about him I begin to l o s e a bit of myself. But at the same time, I gain something new.

I don’t want to dream about him any longer.

Is that bad? Does that make me a bad person?

I’m afraid of falling asleep because, well,

I’m afraid of

f

a

l

l

i

n

g.

I dream about my dad because I long for the day when I can actually see him. But my pride tears everything a  p  a r   t. I know I’m stronger than I tell myself I am.

I shall stop thinking I need him in my life, because I know well, I don’t.

-danna