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emilyberceli · 7 years

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I can’t believe the date is June 29, 2017. It feels like the future and I have butterflies in my stomach. Are those butterflies or is it the strong coffee I’m drinking. I’ve been in New Hampshire now for two weeks and three days, reconnecting and spending time with my mom at her house in the hills. It is the middle of nowhere now matter how you see it, whether one has grown up here or not. The truth is I’ve never been happy in New England, it was the education system that kept me so entertained over the years, and the countless activities my mother enrolled my brothers in from a young age of three years old. The best sports teams and coaches, hebrew school, saxophone lessons, more music, art classes where I learned to draw and paint flowers when I was five years old at the Currier Museum of Art, skiing and snowboarding every winter, Destination Imagination, an infinite supply of inspiring teachers in public schools, a later realization that my high-school was semi-private, college course style education and campus larger than the university my brother and I both ended up attending, Advanced Oil Painting 3, junior year allowing access to a classroom full of the best art supplies one could imagine, at the time being allowed to take anything home out of the classroom, tubes of oil paints that are fifty dollars a piece I realized when I later tried to purchase them as an adult, a marketing program my mother got me in a year early which lasted three years and I wrote an actual 31 page business plan for E.B. Naturals my organic whole foods store that would be located near and compete with A. Market, Whole Foods, Trader-Joe’s, and now if I took the step, took the risk, Fresh Market, in Bedford New Hampshire. Deca, and FBLA affording travel. Trivarsity athletics keeping me busy as the stress of qualifying at the weekly track meet was difficult enough to have no times for wandering thoughts or the wandering mind I now let slide in directions out of my control. Track was the biggest part of my life because I was very talented at it. I ran the 800, 1600 and sometimes my less favorite the 400 meter race. Being a mid-distance runner we would train in the winters during indoor track season, in the usually less than thirty degree whether with gloves, Under-Armor, headbands to cover our ears, and the usual six miles around the town in the cold. All to train for a run that was at tops, only half of a mile. This run I would always do well in because running is absolutely, complete and pure strength of will. If you want to do well you simply decide to feel more pain and push harder, it was simple. It was excruciating because I always wanted to do well, and usually threw up at the end of each race, and fell to the ground, which was the greatest high I could ever imagine. The relief of it being over with, the pain you felt during the short two minutes made it impossible to look at it as just a two minute blip of time during your day, but instead something you stressed about from the time you knew the date, your race, and the concrete information that entailed you would be running. I can’t think of another thing in life where you can get such an accomplished high because nothing is as physically, mentally, soul-ley, truly trying. I hated it and ended up quitting my junior year, I ended my time as an indoor track, outdoor track, and field hockey player in high school and instead focused on my media communications teacher who introduced me to a new concept in life that was a actually a religion and like nothing I had ever learned before Catholicism, and challenged myself with an advanced, (the most advanced offered at Pinkerton Academy) oil painting course, having only taken a required introductory art course freshmen year, and those damn learn-how-to-draw-flower art classes my mom had me in at the Currier, before I was even of age to attend school. I spent all my free period, from half-studies, to full studies, to my lunch period, in either of these classrooms which were both located in the English building, which is what we called the building bigger than most high schools on my high school, Pinkerton Academy’s campus, that was for the English courses and the arts. I also clung on to my first serious read that was not required for school, Wayne Dyer’s, The Power of Intention and studied it more thoroughly and lovingly than I had given a single actual assignment for school in all of my schooling years. Except that poem I wrote. Remember that poem Junior year when you were too shy to read it to the class after almost everyone had read theirs, and there were about five people left on your side of the classroom. You just couldn't do it. So the teacher offered to read it for you, and as much as you loved working on the assignment you were completely and without any thought of why not, content in giving up all credit just to not have to share it. When he read the poem, he stuttered on a few lines as it was not his own, but couldn’t have messed it up because how perfect and cleverly written it was. Two pages and when he finished the whole class stood up and started violently applauding. I was shocked. It was a nice moment because I had isolated at the time and I promise you no-one in this class was my friend having been dropped down to a B level course after not trying on my junior essay and writing it in 20 minutes time in a half study period. I had received a B the previous year in my A level English class and apparently was policy you move down a level if you don’t maintain an A. No-one I grew up with or knew well in the class, but I did know mostly everyone and none of them liked me. I’m not just saying this, they actually didn't like me but I did a better job at staying under the radar, out of the way, out of trouble, and going a little less noticed back then. That’s why it was so amazing when they all stood up to clap for me, because I had no choice for a moment to feel content in maybe, just maybe the thought, that it could be true, that I could be talented.

I can’t figure out why but like most things I think I have nothing to do with it. Why the smoke tastes and feels different in New Hampshire. The first week here I enjoyed my American Spirits more than ever, and now here we are over two and a half weeks later, and I can’t smoke them. Yes, this should be a great thing, but I was never trying to quit. Everyone assumes I would want to but it’s too hard. That’s not the truth. I love my organic, non-additive, all natural tobacco, I love the calm it gives me and I adore the feeling of putting the end of tightly packed cigarette to the ember of the flame and breathing in in a concentrated motion. Deep breaths feel the best as I exhale through both my nose and mouth and feel peaceful like it’s an act that has been performed by humans through out the ages, but I mostly relate and think of the Indians and the people who lived a little closer to nature who enjoyed this specific little pleasure that is one of the many of life. I’m in love with the idea that smoking allows me and instant escape in any situation wherever I am, whoever I’m with, I get to escape, solo, to the trees, to the air, to the outdoors. That’s what I will miss when the universe decides to no longer allow me enjoyment out of smoking and I no longer smoke. It’s not called quitting, that simply is a false term. I have to write truth and I’m not going to quit smoking cigarettes, I’m going to stop enjoying them and therefore no longer smoke them. The verb quit requires action to consciously put an end to something. Personally, I assumed around a year ago when I was a new smoker that I would simply forget what day when my environment changed, my scenery, new place, but I think this might be a contributor but I don’t forget about the things I love. I don’t forget about the things I love to love, the things I enjoy. When you fall in love with something, someone, etc you don’t forget. Like most humans, I love, love. I fell in love for the first time again after having forgotten slightly what being in love feels like, with the Melissa and Jason Wu rain boots I have on right now. They are slightly less magical in New Hampshire because the little wedge makes me stand out a little more than I’d like to. Maybe the people are taller in Miami or maybe they’re more beautiful. Either way these boots fit like gloves for my feet like are perfectly meant for me and they work in my few year old now, new home, Florida. Speaking of not forgetting about the things we love as humans, I can’t seem to forget South Florida. My heart aches for places as it does people. My heart misses my love affair I had with Florida. The intimate one that everyone always wondered what I was up to socially, the one I was free in. It felt like it was between the two of us, me and South Florida and the third love in the affair was all the rest of people living in South Florida. It was a glorious threesome but we all know Florida and I were the closest. I know everyone loves the ocean and the sun and not everyone has these luxuries but I disagree that everyone loves it equally. I know for a fact that for two years of studying the way other people react to the ocean and the sun it is simply not the way I react. On my break every day I would drive the 10 minutes to the beach and either swim or run or read or eat and drink on the sand by myself. I hate sounding like a hippie, a gypsy or some kind of wandering child of love, but I also have to write truth and be true and the weird truth is I feel free in nature. I need nature. Anytime I’m nauseous, I rarely feel nauseous unless I am motion sickness these days, but just a couple years back I had a series of stomach ulcers, causing dangerously low blood levels and whenever I felt sick to my stomach would run outside and lie on the grass despite my boyfriend at the times severe worry thinking this was extremely not normal. But I felt better somehow, probably the obvious, the fresh air. Still, I believe most people prefer beds when they feel unwell, the comfort of their own sheets. I weirdly like the comfort of the dirt and the ground beneath me, covered in some kind of grass, surely leaves, weeds, clovers, ants, and small crawlers. More beautiful than the land is the oceans. If you’re not afraid to swim and realize as humans we can just float for hours without touching land or a shallow area you will turn in to a mermaid, I have. The only reason I have ever had to get out of the ocean was when the waves and current are stronger than I am going out to sea, and being petite, I actually become scared of something in the moment. I’m fearless and can’t think of things that scare me or have scared me in years. I think the only reason I felt fear in this moment one of the hundreds of time I swam in the ocean over the past couple years in Florida, was because i was enjoying so much. When you’re enjoying so much and then something threatens death that is when you fear death. I love the ocean so much that if something seems very dangerous maybe that’s why I was allowed the emotion of fear in this moment. There is nothing about a lake that will ever scare me. Yes I am an insanely fast and amazing jet ski driver but what is there to fear on a lake if you are the one driving and in complete control. What is it others are afraid of? Is it the speed? I love the speed. I’ll never forget my amazing drivers-ed teacher Mr. Benson who let us happily hit ninety on the highways without a second thought, or the Tesla and Maserati drives I favored, or how I chose to drive my Stratus on the major highway in South Florida, i95, in the surpass lane at 90 plus miles per hour because bodily recall or muscle memory thought I was still driving the ‘Rocketship’ (Tesla’s name) but mostly because people don’t know how capable cars are unless they take care of them themselves. Always buying in full used cars through out my life and not wanting to lose my freedom that is my vehicle has made me wanted to learn how to take good care of my cars and I realize what a Dodge Stratus can really do. This is boring for me but possibly interesting for the reader. I spent $1200 on a 2005 Dodge Stratus paid off in full and drove it 1500 miles down the east coast with all my belongings and a friend, stopping along the way, first in Venice, South Carolina, then Savannah Georgia, then forty-five minutes out the way to the Beach House, for an overnight stay in Hilton Head, then all the way to Hollywood, Florida. (South Florida, 20 minutes south of Fort Lauderdale and 20 minutes north of Miami.) Then I continued to drive this car twenty plus miles a day to work and every and anywhere else, (the beach more than anyone needs to know about) for two straight years, and yes, on the highway in the Sun-pass Lane, always at around ninety miles per hour finding myself struggling with remaining a slower pace. People have so many fears in life that they always fail to see what is really possible. Because there are so many suggestions about why it would not be ideal to drive your car this way, no-one ever gets anywhere or goes anywhere. I promise you from being a girl who gave up the Tesla and the moon-alien life that was the exuberant wealth of a magical mystery ride I went on with a man I dated for 5 months, not too long ago, in Miami, in a sort of-”You can’t buy my love” act for the greater good of humanity and women everywhere, to come back to the ground just to find out my shitty resources, such as a Dodge Stratus, aren't that shitty at all. I am exhausted and my back is killing, I hate these sleeping pills this crazy German doctor prescribed me but my health is important. I can’t take the constant doctors appointments and reliving of the 5 days I spent in the hospital on June 7th, that I thought was only one or maybe three days and I definitely can’t take remembering the parts no-one will ask me about, but creep up, and are coming back to me with all these forms and paperwork and the process that is being an advocate for your own health and being a single twenty-five year old woman there is no way to ever really know what happened in that ambulance because I was alone and I was unconscious and I did the right thing, and I always do the right thing, and that’s where it gets me. Alone in an ambulance while a team or people were frantically working together to save my life because my heart beat was stopping and the fight was ending. The next thing I remember I woke up in a stretcher with a black nurse staring at me from about 30 feet away and not a doctor or nurse to be found. The only thing I remember after that was the most gorgeous blond nurse I have ever seen, probably my age, but much more beautiful, sneaking me chocolate ice cream. Then I remember a beautiful kind, well-educated looking man closing the curtain around me in a hospital bed and taking off the sticky pieces that were all over my body in places I couldn’t even see, and he did it in a very sensual way that was not okay, and if I hadn’t been so weak i would have told him to take his beautiful hands off me, and to fuck off, as he offered me no help to tell me any information about anything and literally was just focused on taking things very very slowly off my body. Anyways this is about all I can remember and this was the beginning and quite possibly day 1, and I want to say the next doctor or nurse I saw told me this or looked like that, but I just can’t remember a thing, and I feel like maybe I could almost cry in this moment, but no. I can’t, I won’t, I’m not, I don’t, I should, but I’m not sure when I want to or if I ever want to again, and mostly, where my mind takes me instead is a lot smarter. This extremity of being an independent woman is the first scenario that has made me, just now actually, take a second glance on the decision I mad junior year in high-school when my two best friends went down the drugs and alcohol and fucking random men route and there was no more time I could spend on working on maintaining a friendship with them when they quite frankly weren’t trying anyways cause they were only loyal to one thing in life the thing of the party. My first serious boyfriend broke up with me and my sensitive little weak heart (not by choice but by nature) didn’t want anyone else because my love was loyal even if he wasn’t good looking, silly and social, and maybe a little talented at film, but not a catch, because I preferred a loyal love over trying to love a new and different creature. From then on I fell in love with the independent lifestyle, I could read whatever I wanted to read, listen to whatever music i wanted to listen to, I could swim when I wanted to swim, run when I wanted to run, eat where and what I wanted to eat, think and speak of what I wanted to speak about, this world was fantastically beautiful. Not a single opportunity missed I always loved where it took me. Occasionally I longed for a friend and work as hard as the next person trying to be kind to other people which is my way of making friends, and all the friends I have are simply because I am a FRIEND to them. Anyone who wants to be a friend to me, I will be a friend to. There are no ulterior motives there are no friends I keep around for some kind of status points and there are definitely no friends I bull shit with or speak things that are superficial and meaningless and not true words. I think after this experience I’m going to try to lay off the enjoying my “Collie-Man” lifestyle before the ones I love most grow old, like my parents. Besides I think it would be nice to be a friend to someone if they would let me and be there for them and help them in the small ways I can offer, which seem to not be enough which is why I don’t have close girlfriends. I get a long with men better but they pay a little too much attention to me when I’m around and if they get drunk and are under the age thirty I usually can’t forgive them if they do something stupid because they are a straight man. Can’t a straight man do stupid drunk things to other women and not the one who is supposed to be his friend? Maybe I’m a better drinker than every man I have ever been best friends with in my entire life. Ofir, Dillon, Glen, Pedro, they’ll all never talk to me again because quite frankly they are all immature fuck-bags who are possibly more correctly determined by 2017 millennial as fuck-boys and I will get a sex-change just so they can suck my dick. Just kidding, but everyone feels bad for my friends because I find out they have a crush on me and I’m not ready to reciprocate feelings so they disappear and they are the ones who everyone says aw and feels bad for? I know for a personal fact that it hurts more to lose a friend than to have your ego bruised because someone you are romantically interested in doesn't reciprocate the feelings. I know for a fact I am nothing overly enchanting and am not the one love of these guys lives that they have never felt such a strong love before, I mean come on. That’s bullshit. They were just random baby crushes and did our friendship mean nothing to them? Because our friendships each meant everything to me. As any friendship always does and will. Friendship is something to be treated with honor, grace, respect. Friendship is a beautiful thing and quite possibly the strongest love we are offered to experience as humans. As Plato said “Nothing but heaven itself is greater than a friend who is truly a friend.” I think that is the quote but I’m not pausing to google it or think too hard about this, when you write truth it’s all in your head and to be spilled out at a very high typing speed as a courtesy of Ms. Parsons, my sixth grade computer teacher who made us type with boxes over our hands who possibly might be the sole reason I become a transcriptionist if the current financial endeavor I am working on, does not come into fruition. Spilling these words out, not taking it easy on my brand new MacBook Air’s keyboard which I should type a little more gently on, because last time after a short year, the L key, was completely faded and I didn’t even notice until and Apple Genius Bar technician pointed it out. I wonder if I would realize if there were no letters on any of my keys. Maybe I have just been blessed or lucky or maybe it’s all my opinion, but I seem to have remembered the important quotes. Who can argue with Plato? I don’t think it is an opinion, I think someone that chooses to quote a shitty non-genius unaccomplished slack-bag of 2017 with no artistic talent but pure drugged out numbing life-styled lazy living instead, is an asshole to all of society and that art itself offs itself in this moment until it is brought back to life by one of the few who still juice it up with overly intense emotions and they EYE. Before I knew the quote by Plato, where he wrote and recorded that nothing better than heaven itself is better than a friend who is truly a friend, I had this idea in my head. Maybe it’s because my mom always said be nicer to your friends Emily. No this can’t be why, she just said that because whenever my closest pals and I at sports practice, or maybe Destination of Imagination, thinking of Lauren Saucier coming over when I was in second grade? My mom never once took my side, always the friends, and said be nicer to your friends Emily! This memory make me smile. Now I think back to grade six on the field hockey bench with Cam’s little sister, Alex. She was so quiet and sad and lonely and beautiful. And why I was the only one who took pleasure in slowing approaching sitting and talking to her, I don't know the answer to. Some and most things about ourselves in this life we do not choose and do not know why or how we just are the way we are. It’s not for me to know, I just get confused why other people don’t know about this way. I think I’m lucky this is where my brain goes, to reach out to other people’s emotions more than my own, for two reasons. The number one reason is because despite the lack of credit success and constant finishing last and false reputations or ideas of who I am and basically a lot of the time no-one having any clue really a damn thing about me and possibly just forming a picture with the two worse things I have ever done as I probably blurted them out in our first conversation as I always do in a sort of confession style, social suicide reputation ruining way, as I forget about these lame games and just think “human connection!” human connection! LOL, everyone has always done much worse if I get them to cough up something they are struggling with too, but whatever, the point is, despite literally always and willingly and wantonly finishing last, I feel lucky that my mind goes the way where I choose to care for other people’s state of beings over my own because if this weren’t the case I wouldn’t feel what it feels like when you get through to another person and an actual law of natures, matter changing occurrence happens and you know something is better for them because of something you did. There is no feeling on earth that compares to this, self-accomplishment can be pushed as far as a track meet where you will the most pain on your body you can handle by using your mind to think beautiful agonizing thoughts of life love and death to push harder, but non-self accomplishment is actually the perfect task for me because it is the actual comparison of something as hard as running and racing with your body is for humans. I thought I was out of difficult tasks but no, I actually did not. I knew I was out of difficult self rewarding tasks. The tasks that keep getting harder and are no longer as simple as saying hi to someone no-one paid attention to on the field-hockey, middle school bleachers, are the tasks of helping or connecting with people as adults. I don’t see to be as helpful as before and no-one seems to want my help which is literally murdering my insides deep down. I think I’ve lived for this my entire life and that’s why I’ve struggled socially in Florida, because mostly everyone I know there or got to know is so tough and strong they don’t want your help and don’t need it. I believe the beauty and child-like stupidly wild and blind love for life, belief in anything miraculous if it stems from this love, this heart of the unknown, blind optimism sometimes foolish but still radiating with love, non-clairvoyant realist apocalyptic warrior shit, style that is me, Emily Ruth Berceli, would definitely benefit any and everyone, but whatever my approach is often misunderstood and confusing and quite honestly and laughably, most people just think I’m drunk when I’m completely sober. Just like my music library’s have tested through the times of my life, the different people I’ve surrounded with myself always seemingly saying the same thing. “Are you in love or something?’ Your music is so obvious that you’re in love.” I’ve heard this from those brothers who were hairdressers in Queens on my Israel trip as well as my close friends who attend BU and Emerson on my Israel trip, as well as my brothers, my friends growing up in Derry, New Hampshire, my roommate Whitney from Vermont straight-up said my playlist on our college break on the way up to her parents house in Vermont was “commercial music” or movie soundtrack songs, but strictly from the scenes where they fall in love or a great example, from the film, 500 Days of Summer, when Summer and him finally have sex or make love or whatever the hell their sexual encounter was that got him dancing through the streets the next day to I believe a song by the Cure. Yes I’m in love everyone. And no I’m not drunk everyone. But this means something different to me than it does to most people. I’m in love with life which I prefer more than a single person. Don’t get me wrong falling in love with a beautiful sexy man is absolutely a gorgeous and fun thing that sometimes gets to happen but it’s just irrelevant from this conversation. I’m talking about the way you live your life the state of mind, the what makes up your disposition the what is you when you’re not thinking about love, career, friendships, financials, or the what is you when you’re thinking about all these things. I just wish everyone would know that I’m very serious about this one thing. Sometimes people ask me what I’m serious about when they see me pushing lines for justice with small jobs in the scheme of things. These jobs are very important and I appreciate them to every extent and realize how important they are and how lucky I am as a person to have one as some people are uneducated and or educated and either way without. There are tougher lives that I could ever imagine and know it is not like what Americans small idea of the world is like, but I still push the lines for justice. Justice is important to me but that is broad and not an answer. My answer to Hector from the Boatyard Restaurant in Fort Lauderdale who asked me why making one-thousand dollars a week at one of the nicest newest restaurants in Fort Lauderdale wasn’t important to me would be: (Well he did not phrase the question exactly like this because people are lazy but he pretty much just said what does matter to you emily, in a very, does anything matter to you emily sort of way, in one of my giving no fucks moments, that was actually a giving it to the man, justice seeking moment for all our coworkers, or just a giving a fuck about the one thing I am serious about that I’m about to provide as the answer to Hector’s question. I didn’t always realize concretely this was what I was serious about but have always felt it, and I’m not sure how it’s about to come out when I try to say it, write it, well, actually, type it, in words in the English language. The one thing I have remained steady on and am serious about is being in love with life. Despite my aunt while I was inFlorida thinking she was doing me a favor sitting me down asking me if I needed AA, when I hadn’t drank in months, not even a beer socially with friends because I’m so in love lately with how my body feels without and my brain especially and how all the water I’m drinking feels like I’m being reborn, replenished, rejuvenated, and redefined, every day since I started being the avid water drinker again, that before the move, I had been my entire life. I think I forgot about the 8 glasses a day concentrating, on living and working and affording rent as an independent woman in a new city. Th new home I had chosen. (smiles all around). I looked at my aunt and vigorously thanked her because I have few close people to me in my life and do you know how lucky you are people if you have a person who cares enough about you to ask you that question? I was so captivated by the thought that if I was an alcoholic she would have just saved my life out of love for me and kindness and it meant so much to me. But then I had to come back to earth a little, and at least manage a few words that expressed something different than extreme gratitude and some kind of culmination of English palabras, like “No, Aunt Ter, I don’t drink to get drunk, in fact I haven’t been drunk in years, just the occasional buzz, haven’t drank in months at this specific time you choose to ask this deep-routed loving question, and don’t do drugs either in case you think I’m drunk off some other drunk-ish behavior causing non natural inhabitant of the human body.” Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, Emily, not even close to what you actually said! LAUGH MY ASS OFF. I just typed that in .25 seconds perhaps? That’s all it took yet let’s be fucking real for a second, are you kidding me? There is no way you would have been able to get all that, people stop listening after one word, you got to keep it short and simple and sweet for other people. Like I said, I started expressing gratitude because i was flattered by the thought that someone loves me that much to be concerned enough to ask me that question. Honestly, I guess most people would say this is normal and I was overly-flattered but as an independent solo soldier, collie man, lives her life all alone, because she loves it, kind of person. You’re not always offered such obvious love because most of the time you don’t need it or want it or because some of the time you don’t need it or want it. Either way when people love the distant lover who loves them so much, from my happy distance, about the waves, the grass, the wildflowers, it is a beautiful feeling. So what I really think I said after weirding out my aunt and accidentally diverting from serious issues people actually struggle with such as alcoholism, to pure love and beautiful life, I just hope I managed at least “No, I don’t need AA, I promise.” I’m pretty sure now looking back after certain events she thinks I was lying. But what people don’t know, and what I hate about myself is that I don’t lie. The problem is I am such an artistic emotional woman who I know feels things a little stronger a little more intensely and sorry-not-sorry ( seriously can’t apologize for this anymore) a little more admittedly beautifully than most people, my vivid descriptions and wide eyes and smile make simple people, left-brained for an archaic term that modern science can’t confirm and that modern society has not yet coined a better word for, left-brained dominant less hormonal, maybe even more-likely to be masculine in sex, people. The problem is, when you’re always focused on the beauty in things, when you still find yourself thinking about the miraculous baby bunny that hopped by you on your run yesterday, as much as you’re thinking your real life responsibilities and imagine in society you can sometimes let a false reputation of who you are formulate. I used to love, love love, literally get off on, like my favorite pleasure in life, to get away with something extremely kind towards other people or so many people something amazing I’ve done for the greater good that no-one knows was me. It’s such a devious little smile I wear and such a self-confidence builder to remain under the radar and unthanked and unnoticed and it’s not weary or shaky territory because if you’re truly doing a good thing, if it’s right enough, you will know it and won’t question it and the feeling you get, the fuller you, in side of you, the one there is nothing on paper and nothing in the world we live in that is the culmination’s of all the people mind’s in society. You get to hold on to this truth and use it to independently define your capabilities in independent moments of weakness where you need strength in the future. The ground did get a little shaky here for me for the first time in my life. Here’s where I went wrong and it’s very simple hind sight. You can’t forget about these moments by being too self-deprecating. If you do great things and no-one notices and you don’t remind yourself of them it’s just like the tale of the tree falling in the woods and if no-one is around to hear it fall does it still fall? Oh it still falls but is there a point?My near death experience says no, not good enough no point yet. But because surviving and the Book of Nora episode on the Leftovers proves life to be fucking long, and long and long and long with so many different mind frames that we basically live multiple lives for more than a lifetime time but not yet eternity. I feel that after I’ve spent more than a quarter of a century of years living, I may get closer to the point and possibly the complicated so far from simple truth that could be the divine, eternity, and G-d/holy spirit. All I know is that if I care about people so much, which I do, this needs to be separate from caring about their opinions about me. This is where I blurred the lines and the mistake was made. Having closer relationships in younger years, quite possibly, pre-frontal-lobe development, still child-like years, when someone brought up there opinion on a matter of me. (you know myself, emily) I would take it to heart because when people you love give you advice it is out of love. This is not right anymore. You should hear everything, you will hear everything, you’ve ignored anything, you’re not deaf. Never ignored someone who is speaking to you directly. But you can’t let it sink in. Everyone wants a part of you, and no-one understands your true independence. So you’re going to have to deal with these two cold hard truths that are the facts about your life and your happiness emily. You took the being tough on yourself to better yourself thing too far, and took the love and desire to take in what other people have to say too far as well. This doesn’t mean you know all and no-one has wise advice for you, it simply means at this stage in your life when you have done everything privately, covertly and exactly the right way you’ve wanted to, in finding your love for yourself again which will be your breathe alive and you you will be born again and accomplish whatever it is your meant to accomplish just like everyone else does when they are living. If you don't have self-love you're not living. If you don’t look in the mirror you're not living. You can’t serve from an empty vessel, said someone somewhere I recently posted in one quote entry on this same blog. This is my least favorite quote because it means I can’t give all of me to other people anymore. I think a good idea while living in the city or not the city(country=misery) is I will write down the beautiful things I do, the only things that have ever made me feel some kind of way. The only things that make me feel confident, the things no-one can know about, not just yet, in a Tzedakah sort of nature, the not-yet philanthropist and the hipster-hating yet sounding, philanthropist I actually am sort of nature. Also, maybe just maybe I should stop ignoring compliments? When everything is amazing and the love I desire is there, I know life is hard and the moment will pass like all moments as humans we have many moments minutes in a day and they are sometimes millions of minutes away from the moment you were surrounded by the in-love drunk feeling you feel all day over the little things anyway moment where one of the little things was sending it back at you. I find myself working so FUCKING HARD that all I feel is stress to do more, do better, be a better person, there’s always something more you can do . We all know this. Penny Berceli always quoted what my grandmother whom I never got to meet quoted to her, “If there is a will there is a way.” Well that’s not overwhelming at all. That basically means it’s all up to me and should fully be denying the realistic grumpy smile refusing dream shattering assholes who keep telling me life is not easy and realistic scenarios to watch out for, that are absolutely ruining my life because the craziest truth of all is that whether or not they are true for entire population of the United States or human beings in general doesn’t make them true for me. We are all snowflakes in the fucking craziest most beautiful truest sense. We are all such intricately unique creatures but it becomes forgotten or harder to see this because in society we must act a certain way. And because working to live takes up most most of our time and our devotion to the arts over economics is far and few between ESPECIALLY, in the date that causes butterflies in my stomach, today, the future, June 29,2017. The fact remains we are all unique as human beings and no-one will ever know another person as well as they know oneself. I’ve spent years in school and only education-school like activities, about twenty to be precise, sheltered in the middle of nowhere that is the New Hampshire area, Derry to be precise of the bed I kept going back to’s location at my family home, New England in general, Vermont, Maine, Massachusetts, only New Englanders seem to grasp this most simple of concepts that all these states are right down the street, thirty minutes away to the beach in Maine, an hour to the ski resort in Vermont, and hour into the whitest city on Earth, that is also the tiniest most irrelevant hipster population pre-Boston Marathon bombings, had the least attention of any city broadcasted in the media in the States, getting to know myself. I have discovered that I am unique as fuck and it absolutely makes people hate me because it’s confusing and it absolutely makes me hate me because I can’t find the words, the faster I type or the more legitimate and perfected the explanation, the less understood even, but it’s also so beautiful. So once I allow myself to take in my physical appearance one I have chosen to not pay attention to for some greater good man chauvinistic declaration of superficial things not being important. Something about the compliment Carrie Kolbeck paid me just two days ago where she said I haven’t changed at all and am still the golden heart shining light beautiful girl I’ve always been. Or what my MaraLargo Trump protest purposed pal, Pedro LaCruz said upon first day spent with him, really the only day, the only protest buddy we could find in the Miami, South Florida area willing to drive the short 35 minute (New Englander’s chuckle, drive to Whole Foods from my house) (Floridian’s lengthy road trip miles away) to Palm Beach,just a little west and a little more north, to stand up for people who’s voices need to truly be heard. Well that’s why I was there anyways having no materialized problems yet from Trump’s inauguration in comparison to the surplus of issues already arrived in fellow American citizens lives listed on the few posters showing up to the protest. A few hundred wonderful people showed. Some wonderful people did not show but honked in support. Some hundred people were there. The protest, 250,000 people showed. I’m getting off topic. Oh hey, I accidentally listed one of the things I did for other people no-one knows about. I lost my voice and my feet bled and I ignored the hurtful slurs thrown at the scared marchers when they attempted to cross the bridge and showed them that if I could do it, fearless nice looking small girl, the one with the high-pitched voice(fucking hate it but when u have to be heard for a long period of time u just gotta let it be) could cross the bridge and not be scared of these poor hill-billy uneducated Trump lovers living in their trailer on the same technical island as the one percent of pure selfish filth and loss of love or reason to live that is the 1percent in the united states of america’s president Donald Trump’s estate and villa for celebrity or the wealthiest (wow so wonderful, so glamorous, so glorious, so enticing) ((SO FUCKING SARCASTIC)) vacationers destination. I was on the news but I’m way too annoyingly smart and aware of what I can’t even see sometimes that I put my sign over my face when I saw a camera as I was walking after staying away from that kind of thing. It’s silly the well-known names in society need to be the ones speaking and people who are not well known should not be interested in being scene because you are taking away from and doing the actual opposite of what you showed up to do, why you're there whats really important, get the message out, come together with the other humans in the country, be beautiful in numbers. Protest, poster making partner was obsessed with being in front of the camera. Okay, maybe not obsessed but interested and it was retarded and really fucking irked me. He said me a video clip of us on the news and I was so proud of myself to see you could not see my face but just my perfect sign I made with one poster board and one bottle of spray paint, having learned to make ‘VOTE FOR ME EMILY B’ posters to run for vice-president of student council 6th,7th, and 8th grade, and again freshmen, sophomore, junior, and senior year in high school for a non-specific place on the Student Council. My dad helped me with, simple message in bold letters and economical because we weren’t going to be the stupid family whom’s parents spend a ton of me to make retiredly cooler than A&F(undeniably coolest brand for younglings in schools across the country and other countries as well) looking t-shirts or lollypops with my face on them. I got elected every year. (smiles) Oh wow, another undocumented above when I previously listed the fucking insane amount of educational or sport related arts whatever activities that kept me alive and distracted from how much I hate the state of New Hampshire for living, growing up. Anyways this guy fucking Pedro couldn’t even take my advice on how to do the posters so instead of just letting him fuck up his and doing my own, I tried to work together with an ego obsessed plebeian that are the entire population of young males 27 and younger that live in Florida. One of those mistakes again where I blurred the lines because doing the right thing is acted out, but it is so nearly impossibly crafted that more good would come out of the situation for everyone involved if you did not try to work together and did a less admirable of a character route instead, and just let him fuck it up and do mine perfectly and beautifully. Just kind of wondering when doing things perfectly and beautiful got old for me and when I started to insist and insatiably desire that everyone else experience it with me and not just observer me most nauseatingly from a far, or secretly loath from a less than realistic idea of what jealously should feel like, lol ( as if jealousy could be done a right way) I’ve been trying to live this way for a while and it’s nice the few people I have helped experience some true art beauty and joy that is what the arts to me are. SIMPLICITY. PURITY is a better word because lazy empty minded people love the layman’s definition of simple, which is more like the urban dictionary version and and a little incorrect but pure works to describe something that is simple but also clean and beautiful. It’s just raw white silk. These moments are few and although they are a success in achieving my point of sharing the love and beauty it doesn’t make me feel the love or beauty any stronger it just makes me a little more peaceful knowing that the beauty is stronger since said person I am sharing with can see it, or more accurately, feel it, or even more accurately, submerge themselves in, the love. All I know is if I want a chance at accomplishing any of my mini desires in life. Adding beauty to the world that I created even if it’s the tiniest glimmer of live, or the pure beautiful smile of a simple lover whenever you see the dimples and almost blush or looking down on their face, the same flushed feeling a little stronger on your own face, smile a little more childlike an un adult like defined, a little too pure if you ask me on your own face. The comfort of affording food and a home in an area that is not too cold on my always cold, hypothermia lips turning blue on normal family vacations with friends growing up and the only one hospitalized from the late night swim at Camp Hadar because of your inability to not freeze over in low temperatures, area. Maybe some soft clothing, my love can have an animal as I had that love for 23 years and have been too blessed to desire again as a future goal. Running water I can call a rain shower if there is 99 cent suave rain shampoo on the shelf whether it is an actual rain shower or not. But preferably publishing a novel that brings more love into the readers life for the time it is held in their hands, or heard over their car speakers, or quoted by a friend, or the words of which are read on a Kindle or Nook, or iPad (can you download books yet on an iPod Steve Jobs?) ((sorry had access to the most beautiful library in the country at Nova Southeastern University for a placid year, and had no need to figure this out. Look at that, a millennial thing I don’t know about. I am obsessed with tech if that’s not obvious yet. Obviously to whom Emily? Obvious to you or obvious to the reader? Because it’s just starting to be undeniably obvious to you but since you never own your shit and love yourself and just for a moment accept the hatred, lack of understanding, and opposite affect than that of human love it will bring upon, you really don't know do you. Anyways the last goal the mini little life desire I was about to list was that if I shall be lucky enough for my hard work to pay off and bring actual positivity love knowledge or new ways of thinking, exploration of new worlds into people’s lives with my words being published in a novel form, I think I, in like I said un pocket, miniature way, desire more water to be near by than the running shower water, I’d be okay with ocean being near by as it’s peaceful most bluest of beauty brings me more feelings in the category of the mysterious beauty the heart of desire and whatever help the world love means, because since I know I love it so much I know I wouldn't be able to take it for granted and such a constant love can only, has only, will only, and could if I will and fill my own little mini desires that are the little wants I have for myself if I’m going to be a part of this world, you know life, that I wouldn’t go as far to call life goals, because that’s way to self-seeking and right now I’m still working on finding a little love of self first step. Alright that’s enough or this and have the task of putting this into paragraphs at a later hour because who the hell knows what I was thinking pre-coffee and the easy return button tap have been much easier than skipping that one finger motion to go back through and re-read this. My own thoughts are frightening. There’s another fear for the fearless girl. It’s just shitty and a mind fear not a cool real fear. Anyways I brought up up Pedro not because I have any positive thoughts about this superficial born and raised south-floridan who literally refused to admit I taught him any anything or enriched his life in anyway by attending the protest with his four years younger than me ass all to finally read a stupid article he sent me on SnapChat and to respond with proud of you after obviously not listening to his undefined and also ugly and shitty taste of music song selections he would send to me that yes i’ve heard, and yes suck, are are not obscure they are not on the radio nor any cool places where music exists because they had their hour a year ago before any of the greatest needed an ear bath and the people then followed. Shutting it the fuck off. He responded I sent it to you Emily, so you could learn from it, okay thanks fucker your barely able to drink and clearly dumb as fuck and only at the protest because you've got your personal familial issue to deal with selfish dumb and for the fact it scores you fake wanna-be hipster points as all the nerds in Miami are obviously dying for the look of Hipster because how else could nerd be admirable socially by any humans on earth or in our modern day society then to try and be what Boston/New Hampshire people were actually doing and not faking ten years ago cause we are real and are not the physical forms of your superficial egotistical societal games but enjoy the greater things in life. If your a hipster and you’re read reading this but mostly to poor Pedro for having life so disturbingly wrong that he's also thoroughly offending and spreading it on to other people as well, a BIG GIANT, fuck you. You all ruined yoga and american spirits for me and now I can’t even use the only skill I have, teaching yoga, as an acceptable skill in society without sounding like a new-age full of shitter. (smiles) Pedro told me I was beautiful o the inside and outside only because it’s what I believe he knew I wanted to hear. I’ve heard this compliment before if only I could take the time to enjoy a compliment and appreciate that whom is me I would remember the good ones who’ve paid me this compliment other than my love of an old friend Carrie Kolbeck and Pedro, and it could of saved me all the time I spent explaining all that is truly wrong offensive and disturbing to all of humanity that is one day around this person’s deeper ideals and intimate desires made up in their soul about life. Who wants to be beautiful anymore anyways? Maybe it’s just me since I need to run (stress-reliever like sex or like my therapist has pointed out and family members or roommates have joked about that “I’m running away” that keeps me in good enough shape to not have to do more than the natural look to not care about my appearance and maybe I’m wrong for not appreciating my beauty taking better care of my physical appearance or finding love in my heart intimate self love for what I look like on the outside, and maybe I’m just putting it in a way that makes it sound right and really maybe for a thousand reasons I’m wrong but I can’t get over the lack of life and can really get down with and off on when people tell me I’m beautiful inside and out and this is not because the outside part it’s because they have to mention both so it is clearly defined that they mean beautiful on the inside. Whatever when people tell me I’m beautiful if there is any reason to believe it could be for something I did or said not some way I looked I don’t question it and optimistically, again blind fool, and quite possible with un-selfawareness, choose to assume they don’t mean externally.

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