Safe!

 I know this probably sounds stupid, but sometimes I'm afraid of being too much. Of rising above the soft murmur of everyday life and openly take a stand on something - to be a leader. I feel safe as a soft-spoken follower who doesn't make waves regardless of whether I think changes need to be made or not. I think that Eve Ensler wrote something similar to this. Then I fantasize about being the tireless volunteer who fights for her convictions, and having a relationship with politicians who can actually make these come to fruition. Of stirring things up like in the '60s and '70s with the protests and marches and sit-ins. Of looking retribution in the eye and relentlessly push forward. But keeping my head low, keeping to myself, doing my own thing is safer. Besides, who has time for all that? I may have time right now, and maybe had time over the summer, but I start school in five weeks [add hint of sarcasm]. What if I really achieved that? What if I fail? Can I fail? Can little ol' me really make a difference? I was talking to a woman at that potluck who was an activist in the '70s, and she said she can't believe how complacent my generation is. Where are the leaders? Why don't people care? I gave her the usual rhetoric, that people are self-centered, caught up in their own lives, think those issues don't really affect them, etc. But what is really so different from 40 years ago? She said that someone needs to take a stand and motivate the young people. I felt like she was talking to me, and maybe she was. I wouldn't even know how to go about something like that. Could I get people to care in such an apathetic environment? Do I personally want to motivate people to care, and to do something about it? I really don't know the answer to that question.

"I wanted to be the first woman to burn her bra, but it would have taken the fire department four days to put it out." -Dolly Parton

Poe

Today is Edgar Allan Poe's deathday. He died 160 years ago on this day. Doesn't seem like he lived so long ago. I visited my grandmother, Gramma, today after class. I was on my way to my favorite Thai restaurant to pick up dinner, and decided to swing by and visit for a while. I picked her up a decaf mocha and yogurt parfait from Starbucks. She introduced mochas to me when I was 12. She looked good and was fully alert. I know I need to spend as much time with her as I can, before it's too late. She has four children, but only one comes to see her. Two are in Cali and the youngest, Damien I like to call him, is hopefully burning somewhere in the core of hell, but he's probably right here in Seattle. She actually had five children, but my mom's older brother died five years ago, three years after his son committed suicide. I miss both of them, especially Curt, my cousin. We'd instant message every single night for two to four hours, sometimes more. We talked about everything, from poetry to perfume. He wrote poetry. I have some of his poems tucked away in a folder.

Every day I seem to realize something more about myself, even if it seems perfectly obvious but never thought about it before. I started acting kind of crazy after the first time Queen broke up with me. I lived with them for a while, and felt happy and safe. Then when I had to move back home, that security was stripped away. I'm also positive I suffered a traumatic brain injury (tbi) from my accident, because I'm not the same person I used to be. I would fly off the handle at things that shouldn't seem like that big of a deal. I'm much more irritable and short-tempered. I can also be obsessive-compulsive about some things. These are all symptoms of people who've suffered from tbi's. Unfortunately, Queen and Diego would see the worst side of me, but that was also my most vulnerable side. I was always very emotionally even - no real highs and lows, even during my period. Then I became this other person I don't like. I want to get back to who I was, but don't want to depend on drugs to do it. However, if that's what I need to do, then I'll do it. Hopefully, it won't be a lifelong requirement.

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow-

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand-

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep- while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

~Edgar Allan Poe