So, just as I believed, I failed in the motivation/free time department of blogging, and have sucked at updating. Normally, I would refrain from using "sucked" in my blogs, because I kind of aim to sound intelligent, but there really is no other word I can think of to use to describe my lack of entries.

Really, I've written a lot. I had a lot of papers to write, and actually, I've got some lyrics down for a couple songs, which is pretty impressive because it's been a couple years since I've really been inspired to write lots of music, more than one song every 6 months anyway. Then again, with a November like the November I just had, there's bound to be some type of artistic expression.

So what happened in my November? Well long story short, I thought I was dying of throat cancer, my boyfriend broke up with me, and my dog died. I was most devestated by the dog. I'm still soaking tissues for that one. I haven't cried over the boy since the night it happened. I kind of like it that way. Which perhaps points to the problem I've had with relationships...

Anyways. Perhaps it isn't so much the lack of motivation or time for the blogs. I think I just figure I can only blog under the influence of divine intervention, or blissful contentment, and loss of relationship, whether by decision or death, didn't really feel like that. In my last entry, I sounded so delighted to be living. Apparently that doesn't happen very often. Not to say that I'm not happy to be alive, or even enjoying life, I just can't sound that inspired everyday. In fact, I'd probably sound downright cynical. So here you go. Cynical rant of today:

After my breakup, I kinda realized I enjoy being single too much right now to really be committed to putting the work and time into a relationship. Honestly, between the days I've been with somebody and the single days, the latter have been the better. I thought I was pretty content. Then, I watched The Notebook. Now before you jump to conclusions and think that it turned me into a hopeless romantic, it just turned me hopeless.

I have an idea of what I want, but at the same time, I either feel like what I want doesn't exist, or that I actually haven't the slightest clue as to what I want. To make things worse, I discovered that a guy from high school that I secretly thought was the embodiment of the type of guy I wanted has grown a mullet. Not just any mullet. This is like, business-in-the-front, repunzel-can-climb-down-for-the-party-in-the-back mullet. I will never understand the fascination guys have with the mullet. Ever. Or their fascination with creepy, pedophile-in-the-trailer-park stache. To each his own I suppose.

I feel like a facebook bumper sticker, but really, I wish I would meet a guy that would prove to me that they're not all the same. I'm sick of the guys that want to "get some." I'm sick of the guys that say that they don't, but bail when you don't "put out" and run to some easy chick that does all the work for him. I'm also sick of guys that are too shy, and who you have to keep a paper bag handy for because they might hypervenelate if you so much as hug them. I guess I thought going to college would mean there were a bunch of men, but so far, all I've seen is just an extended population of boys.

I could sit here and depict what I want in a guy, create the stereotypic girl checklist for what I'm "shopping" for, and explain why all guys fail at these characteristics, but I won't. It's gotten old. I kind of just want to screw dating, and the whole idea of serious relationships for awhile. Ever since I hit puberty, dating advice and ideas about relationships have been crammed down my throat, and none of them have worked. Honestly, I'm tired of my only options being the "thou-shalt-not-touch" approach, and the "we-must-spend-every-waking-moment-making-everyone-around-us-nauseous" approach. I just want to flirt.

So here's to the single life, and just having fun, for heaven's sakes. And here's to peace of mind about any type of serious relationship. Until some guy comes and sweeps me off my feet and proves to be the right piece that fits perfectly into my puzzle of a heart, I'm just gonna be a girl that has some fun. If this piece even exists. I feel as though it may be years until I find him. Right now, guys are just boys who sing too loud, think they're too smart, and don't know a good girl when they see one.

I'm really just begging for some guy to try to prove me wrong...

The crisp of air and crunch of leaf...

This afternoon, Bri and I decided to go on a bike ride. You'd think through all the sleep deprivation I'd maybe decide to work on some homework or something during that time period, but i have finally come to the conclusion that even on the nights that I don't have homework, my head rarely hits the pillow earlier than 2:30 in the morning. The time that the books have been sufficiently hit has hardly any relevancy to when my eyes begin to droop. So furthermore, a bikeride it was.

Today was one of those perfect fall days. If it could be this exact weather for all year round, for the exception of summer (which I would prefer to be 20-25 degrees warmer and sunnier) my feelings would be nothing short of blissful. The temperature was chilly enough to kiss your cheek with a touch of cold, but not so much that it froze in all the way to the bones. I think most refer to it as "crisp" autumn air. All that is really required is a light jacket. It was sunny earlier, though the clouds were out by time we went for our ride. It's also prime leaf-color observation time. It's almost like a continuous sunset. It dresses the earth in oranges, reds, and yellows, instead of the monotonous green, brown, and gray. It was also windy today, but it was a warm wind. When the wind blows through my hair and against my face, I kinda feel like Pocahontas. When I was a kid, the rain water would collect in the cover of the pool, and the leaves would fall in, and I would sit on the deck and pretend I was in a canoe, paddling around, occasionally bursting out in "Just Around the Riverbend." Not only do leaves appeal to the eyes, but the ears and feet too. There's just something about that dried-leaf-under-shoe crunch. I was actually so distracted by aiming for the crunchiest looking leaves with my front bike tire that I didn't notice that Bri had stopped and ended up running right into her before realization had traveled to my hands.

We rode through a cozy little neighborhood of charming houses tucked between trees and winding pavement. One of the houses totally looked like seven dwarfs could be walking out of it, following a pale girl with dark hair and a screechy singing voice. I also saw a young couple painting the front porch of their house. I got lost in a daydream, thinking of when someday I'd be with my own husband and we'd be standing there, little country crock butter container full of paint in one hand, paint brush in the other, painting our little house with its little front porch. I think riding around that neighborhood, running over crunchy leaves, made me feel like a kid again.

There are few times when I am truly content. I think riding my bike around a neighborhood on a beautiful fall day is one of those times. The only way it could have been any better would be if I had gotten to eat a fresh donut and sipped on some apple cider.

And so it begins...

This is probably something like my third or fourth attempt at a blog... It always seems as though there is so much inspiration to write about and that maintaining a blog will be such a simple task. But as many things in life, whatever seems simple often is not. Not that keeping a blog is in itself, very difficult. More along the lines that being intentional about keeping a blog, or just intentional about anything in general, is more complicated than it seems. Anyway...

On my second blog attempt, there was a quote that I still like that I will also post on this one. It is from Anne Lamott - one of my favorite authors - though I've probably only read maybe 20 pages or so of her work. But those 20 pages stuck out to me that much. I suppose I'm kind of a strange writer because I hate reading. I think most writers also like to read. So when I write I guess I don't write to audiences that are like me, because if my audience is like me and hates to read, there is no purpose for me to write. But you see, I can't even pretend to be intentional about reading. It just doesn't work. But anyways, here is the quote:

"I try to write the books I would love to come upon, that are honest, concerned with real lives, human hearts, spiritual transformation, families, secrets, wonder, craziness — and that can make me laugh. When I am reading a book like this, I feel rich and profoundly relieved to be in the presence of someone who will share the truth with me, and throw the lights on a little."

I think I'd like to try to write those books as well...