I should very much like to be better at praying. I'd like to be strong in it, lifting weights off the shoulders of my friends and my family through petition, then letting God take all that is heavy in my heart.

I would also like to be decisive. I think the two desires will help each other in creating a state of actual being.

I think I feel a change coming on. A tickling of green in my stomach, a little tree perhaps. A flower?

----

Before I change all the way towards good decision making...I might have to back out of going to college. I went for my placement test the other day, and became overwhelmed. I have a lot to learn, and maybe not the energy to devote toward the necessary study. *sighs*

I woke up this morning at 2 am because I had a bad dream. I think it was more the sweat on my body beneath the heavy quilt that caused me to stir...when I opened my eyes, I saw that the lights in my room were on. At first I was irritated, then I remembered that I had closed my eyes to a dark room, so I became a little uneasy in my sleepy grog. Who had turned them on? Why would they forget to turn them off? I crawled out of bed, flipped the switch, blew my nose and then climbed the ladder to my bed again.

The ceiling fan rattled out a beat, and I felt my heart moving in rapid contrast, while my body layed still. I took one deep breath, then another...I was soon climbing the stairs, intending to sleep on the cot my parents have set up in their bedroom for Isaiah when he has bad dreams. They didn't even stir when I opened their door. I plopped down with my pillow and blanket, then when I was finally settled, I heard it. Footsteps, feet inside shoes, footsteps...the door creaked when they stopped outside my parents room, then it opened, and there was a man. He removed his coat, and spoke to me when I asked him what he wanted, I don't remember what he said...but I remember his creepy smile, and how he left me in my parents room, making his way next to where my sleeping brothers were. I started telling my dad in hushed tones to wake up...I couldn't move myself, I just sat on the edge of the cot asking my dad to wake up. He didn't respond, so I kept increasing my voice until I was yelling..."Dad! There's someone in the house, wake up!" I was panicking, that guy was in by my brothers. Finally my dad sat up,

"What are you doing here? "
"Dad, there's a man in the house."
"Well," He said lying back down."if he were any real threat he'd be dead by now."

I layed down shaking, fear, uncertainty, and anger at my dad. I closed my eyes and rolled over so that my back would be towards the door, when next I opened my eyes...I was again in my own room. I sat up quickly, still feeling the uncertainty from my dream, the fan had kept ticking and the lights were dark.
I layed there thinking about how I shouldn't be afraid that my lights were on (that was my whole reasoning for going upstairs in the dream)...I thought about how much I would have been freaked out when I woke up from the first dream (the one that made me sweat) had my room been completely dark. How when I was a kid, the only thing that made me feel better after a nightmare was having all the lights turned on in my room. I never liked to see shadows anywhere...but now I had been having heart palpatations, over the fact that my lights were on when I woke up from the first bad dream, it had instead sent me into a half awake fit of anxiety. A dream that was worse than the first one. The light hadn't killed my fear...and that bothered me so much, that I did go upstairs to my parents room, but no creepy smile was there to greet me. Just my dad who popped out of bed at the first sound of my barefeet hitting the creaky stairs. It was 4 am, my dad told me to climb in bed with mom because he "was just getting up anyway". At first I was confused that he'd be getting up at such an ungodly hour, then I was thankful, then I was praying for the real kind of light to expose itself, making shadows gone. After that I slept.

I talked to my dad later, and he said he woke up with a start around 2 am, thinking he should check on me. I asked him why the hell he didn't :).

I started thinking about how I want to move out and live on my own in Rochester...and how Sarah Marie would feel if I had to crawl in bed with her after a bad dream. It didn't make for good feelings on independence. It's been 6 months since I thought up a reason I should marry...and my skiddishness around darkness and being a alone at night is as good as any. I hate being attacked with fear like this at night, most of the time I just whisper a prayer of "uh-no...I'm too tired for this now. Jesus please take care of this." I forget that sometimes though, and the extra security of company in bed would help that. I can't believe I'm being so brutally honest. My parents will be pleased.

I have nothing to say...my eyes are sleepy a bit. I am shaken in my heart about things that i’d like to deny. I’m honest though...and consider them silently.

Let dead dogs lie.
Let them bury their dry noses into the grass, and inhale once more its chilled sweetness.

A bay leaf in your flour jar keeps the grain moth away.
bleh I can’t write...I am unmotivated. I know there are things I should write about...should take my mind off of. That I should focus on. I just want to go be myself. Live in a cold apartment, where I drink hot tea, and type on an old typewriter...the kind that dings when you reach the pages edge. I want to laugh more freely at people I don’t know...I want to be popular...pretty...funny...well dressed. Yet content to be alone...to breathe through my cold nose. To forget about taking pictures of myself...to forget about creating an image. To write, write when I don’t feel like it. To work, work, work....life’s not about the accomplishments, it’s about the process. The struggle, then pain that makes you aware that once you were happy...and that you’ll be happy again. I want to imitate scenes of life, with my words...

Could he be any more beautiful?

I wonder why out of all the fruit produced of my parents loins, did he get the blue eyes. I mean I know I should be content with myself just the way I am...God made me special, and that means I get pretty brown eyes...but really, look at that.

I think I've always wanted blue eyes...I found this little somthing that I wrote a while ago.
---
I wish my eyes were blue grown pale, and my jawline more structuraly chistled. So that when I set it and look at you, you will feel the chill of my resolve.
---

I'll tell you why Isaiah got blue eyes...because I would've used a set of my own evilly.
That's enough, I'm going to make cookies now, one batch wheat free for drew...and one regular for us normal people.

Give thanks for the over abundance.

Beneath the calm demeanor, the quiet, the still movement. Busy brain, motionless body.

"“She doesn'’t talk a whole lot, ever"”
I say: "“Thats true, very true."”
He who hardly knows me says: "“I know, that'’s why I said it"
I say: "“I have a lot going on in my head."”

Giggling a little, I resettle...into the persona, a doll dressed to go out, steady grin, button eyes that look only as far as her thoughts take them. It'’s expected, it's comfortable.
Twinges inside, there lay life...small, feathered, beaked, and winged. The fledgling stirs, cracking the surface.
A streak of blonde in dark brown hair.

"“Will you be online tonight?"” He asks.
"“No that's why I'’m here, we'’ve lost internet at home...I'’m here to work."” I say with a bit of a smile.
"“Well if that'’s the way it'’s going to be...it's not going to be. Work never got in the way of our relationship before."” He said it squinting his eyes.
"“We never had a relationship before."” I say.
"Well..." He says smiling.
"Will you stop interrupting my work?"” A giggle sneaks out with my speech.
"“I'm sorry, were you talking? I believe we'’re done."” He moves his lips, then turns his head.

Resettle, focus within...
Peck...peck...movement of wings, mimicking flight. Beak protruding, a hole filtering light.
The sweater I'm wearing belonged to somebody's grandma. I'’d like to be a writer. I think my parents are fun to be around. I avoid hanging out in public places, for quiet nights at home. My four closest relationships, have been with married couples. I want to do something amazing for the kingdom. I talk to adults in ways, these boys would never get. I cry when I think about disobeying God. And I still am afraid of the dark sometimes.

"“You and I will make beautiful music together."” He says.
I nod. He smiles.

The shell inside shatters, I hear it in my ears...a gust of breath, warm and dry, removes the moisture from soft feathers. The breath is a whisper. "Fly. Take flight. Ride the wind."”
I don"’t like it here. Your conversation is unmoving...and I can'’t understand why I feel bound by it. Why I feel smaller than you. I like to read books, then I like to talk about them. I like to feel like I'm being listened to, and then return the favor. I like to be remembered. I have a bird inside, where my heart is. The beat of its wings is the rhythm pumping my blood. But you'll never know. I haven't shown.

I will be attending college for two classes this upcoming winter semester. The experience of applying made me feel modern and accomplished. I walked in with raw nerves, and questions I thought difficult were brushed away at the welcome desk with easy answers. I know I was nervous, because when I was filling out my application, my heart was pounding a pulse that caused a little tremble in my finger tips. "Oh great," I thought , "I have to tell them I'm a home schooler, and my swaying, illegible penmanship will vouch for it." I pushed through...passing over the "student seeking a degree" option, checking instead the "personal interests" box, and came out holding a student number.
Confidence was bouncing in my heart, like the very large breasts of your robust southern maid when she hurriedly dusts the mantle. I had transformed in that last half hour, I'd become a college student...Intelligent, independent, a growing spectacle in the public eye...Never before have I felt so sexy.
And so I climbed back into my parents mini van, drove off, lost myself for five minutes downtown Grand Rapids, weaving my way through diverse neighborhoods...There was a lot of construction.

Driving home, I was alert and will admit that I was listening to Bright Eyes, finding enlightenment in the writings of Connor Oberst. I think his lyrics are sort of clever in a blind man groping the wall sort of way. The little things strike me...Stuff like this...

I was a camera
Until I went blind

---
I have my drugs, I have my woman
They keep away my loneliness
My parents have they have their religion
But sleep in separate houses
---

And there’s kids playing guns in the street
And ones pointing his tree branch at me
So I put my hands up I say “enough is enough,
If you walk away, I’ll walk away”
And he shot me dead
---

Some of it made me sad...as it should, the man makes something like one drug reference in every song, which is evidence of his inability to process and come out on top of his thoughts. But, he has discovered perspective, and that's all writing really is. A person's collection of observations. I learned this in Bird by Bird (anne lamott), and since have had more confidence in ever writing a piece of fiction myself.

I told my mom about a growing book idea I have. I don't share these most of the time, because I tend to summerize verbally the going ons of my head...which reduces it, and will dull any listener to death...but I did okay tonight. It will be a book dedicated to my friend Elena...and will basically be the story of a girls dating life, from the getting to know you stages, to the date that ruined it all...probably four or five different tellings...you can ask me about my mind behind it if you care...but I really just want to tell you that my mom loved the idea, but insisted that I would need experience to base the stories on. I told her that I had it...in my unconcious, that I had enough emotion from one "almost was" relationship to make ten stories...and that there was a purpose, to me enjoying the social isolation, being quiet sometimes brings. I can be inspired on the experiences I see happening around me. Yeah...yeah...that's good.

Coming to a close, I must say, that today was an inspiring day.

And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him.

- 1 John 4:16-17

Speak the truth, the simple truth, complexity will reveal itself...abandon your shovels.

It is good, that my chest rises and falls with breath.
Also that my stomach lurches, and blows gas bubbles when I'm hungry.

Today the sun is bright. The leaves have lost their dying luster, now they lie, brown and dry.

It is right that I make up songs and sing them in car rides alone and right to give praise.
It's okay that I cry while I sing the imperfect melody.

I am in love.
Alive in love.
There's no romance.
Love is, as love does...it is what it is...
When you live inside,
there's no forward or back, there is only the moment, and that's all that can be handled by human hands. Love according to the past is pain. In the future love becomes fantasy.

I am Johanna-nonny-nooner, yet since we are allowing the truth to be simple, I'll let you call me Johanna.

There is just nothing like live music. I wasn't sure what I would think, after seeing two of my favorite bands perform in a place as small as Lemonjello's...I thought perhaps the music would be asorbed into the crowd, without ever reaching me, but I forgot about Anathallo's exuding passion...and Saxon Shore, well their sound had victory won over the most wildest of thunder storms last night. Goodness, just all around, spiritfilled, fruitful goodness.

Anathallo takes me back to much of what I learned at PUSH...when I watch them, I have a crazy amount of mime/dance techique and theory running through my head, exercises from improv class, and I'm amazed at the parallels in artistic development. It causes me to dream about maybe learning to play the piano once more...so I can at least understand the technique of being a musician a little more, but perhaps relating on a purely emotional plane is not so bad. I like some of the ignorance, I like feeling like I am the only one in the room that could possibly be feeling the music at depth. Like I could keel over with the next chest piercing tone. I don't need to know that it's not true...or rather feel that it's not true :). It's true entertainment...

Saxon Shore, oh man, I felt like their music was a wave that just enveloped me...it was so loud, so beautiful, the tonality tricked my brain, it felt like I was dancing inside my head. There were a few of these penetrating sounds that would start in my left ear, and move reaching a higher level in my right. I totally felt like I was over spiritualizing the experience, but then determined that was alright because It's been awhile since I've been spirtually excited. So I danced a little, prayed a little, and forgave a lot.

And it all made me appreciate the silence of the evening after that. I went home crawled into bed fully dressed, and let my ear drums swell in aftershock of a beautiful memory.

There...I bet you're jealous...either that or thinking I'm far too dramatic about simple things.
But frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

Currently Reading: Fashion History
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It is "no shave november"...according to friend Ryan, who has a cousin in a musical group called The Tide. Ryan says that the guys in the band all put their razors away for the month. So, Ryan and a couple of willing fellows are letting their face hair lengthen this month as well. Niah considered it, and gave up all in one day...that's when I got to thinking of ways I could join in. Seeing how I have minimal amounts of facial hair...yeah I said minimal, I will not deny the few stray hairs on my chinny chin chin. Ever since my lovely friend Steph told me that every woman in the world had at least one long black hair growing on their face, she didn't care how old, how twentysomething, how skinny, fat, fair, or dark, we all have one...I felt a little less awkward. it's true, if you don't have one yet, keep in eye out upon approaching womanhood, there will be something to pluck besides the eyebrows. Regardless, the down on my lips is nothing I'd ever shave off in most occasions anyhow. So I thought maybe I could go without the legs being shaved...but that doesn't happen so often in the winter months anyway, so the next consideration was the armpits...but that got gross, no amount of patchouli would make me feel good about that. I'll leave the shaveless days to the boys...and just enjoy watching the transformation. That's supportive enough right?

My little brother, in his six years, confirmed something for me today. I can't remember the situation in detail...why we came to a place of disagreement, and were fighting like a 19 year old and 6 year old shouldn't. All I remember is telling him that change was good...he threw his hands shaped as fists down toward the ground, making his arms stand rigidly straight at his sides, and his eyes watered a little as he told me something. He said, "Change is NOT good. It makes people hurt, and sad, and do things they don't want to do.", after this he breathed hard through his nose and tried not to cry.I felt bad for smiling, I just thought it was interesting...given that I had just come to pretty much the same conclusion in my last post. He is so much smarter than me.