(Meanwhile...) Day 272.5

Jaz swiped a bead of sweat from the nape of her neck as she stepped into the crisp night air to the sound of crickets and tiny frogs. Looking down at the dimly lit sidewalk she spied one of those tiny frogs and stooped down to get a better look. The other cast members milled about moving toward their respective cars and making light conversation. Cathy stood a pace back from Jaz and made a face, hoping the creature wouldn't come near her suddenly. Jaz scooped up the little wet thing and turned excitedly to show it to whomever would look.
"Ewww, keep that thing over there!" Cathy said tensely.
"It's just a baby," Jaz laughed and opened a space in her hands just large enough to peek at her prize.
Jim pushed open the glass door behind Cathy and stepped into the scene, amused by the contrasting reactions. Jaz held her cupped hands out towards him in an effort to show him her frog without him stealing it or the frog getting loose. Cathy leaned backward to create more space between her and the squirming animal. Jim looked at Jaz's hands and opened his mouth as if he would eat her prize. Apalled, Jaz withdrew her hands and in her distraction created a space large enough for the frog to squirm through her hands and hop directly into Cathy's purse.
Cathy screeched and held her bag as far from her as was physically possible while Jaz and Jim burst into laughter.
"I'm so sorry! Here let me get him," Jaz apologized as soon as she could collect herself.
"Ewww!Get it out Get it out!!" Cathy said in a high pitched voice as she squirmed farther away from the bag.
Jaz scooped up the frog again and set him free as Cathy shivered and tried to collect herself.
"Hope you wash your hands..." Jim said smirking.
Jaz ignored him and moved into the parking lot across from her car, tossing some haphazard goodbye's to her castmates. She reached her car and tossed her various papers and pens into the passanger seat. From her peripheral she could see Cathy and Jim talking by his car and decided to pull out her phone to bide her a moment more with him. As she began to dial Zac's number to ask about an APO meeting that night, she suddenly noticed Jim awkwardly (if such a thing were possible) moving toward her. Her breathing quickened. She finished her voicemail by the time he reached the trunk of her car leaving only something like 4 feet between them. When she hung up she threw a shockingly well-composed "hey" to the tall, brown-eyed guy who'd approached her.
"So I'd like to continue our conversation about my ink sometime," Jaz nodded as she remembered asking him earlier about a simple cross tattoo on his ankle which she'd admired.
"Sure, yeah" She said, not catching his drift.
"So,...you wanna go out sometime?" He asked in a way that could only be labeled awkward, if Jaz could ever imagine him being so.
"Oh,...Yeah, sure, we could hang out between classes or something..." She answered, trying to make it not a date in her head, but knowing that she'd want to date him regardless, and recalling how close he lived to her university and the convinience of that fact.
"Ok, cool, so can I get your number?" He asked pulling out his cell phone.
"Sure," Realization seeping into each number she recalled to him.
"Cool, so I'll talk to you later," He said smiling slightly.
"Alright cool," She said smiling back.
He turned and walked slightly quicker back to his car and she ducked into Hermia as the dizziness and reactionary emotions settled into her throat.
Did that really just happen?

Hand-made

What are hands for?

When God made you he gave you an amazing tool, so important that he even gave you two of them. Your hands. Usually when God says or does something important He repeats it, since we usually don't get the message the first time. So what message did He want us to get by giving us two hands?

God gave us hands to create. Being made in His image we have an incurable desire to build or create. Some use their hands to press keys and create music. Some create works of art with their hands skillfully and gently moving colors and textures. Some even use their gifted hands to lay bricks and wood to create structure and order.

God gave us hands to communicate. While not all people have to use their hands to speak, communication would be highly lacking and much more difficult if we lacked hands to display our thoughts. Something as simple as a handshake or a high five cannot be conveyed in words with the same force without our wonderful gifts.

God gave us hands to care for others. He who gave us hands also gave us the ability to find meaning in touching others' hands. God created it and said it was good. One of the most powerful moments in the new Toy Story movie is when all the toys are at the dump and sliding towards the furnace. They all panic for a moment before realizing they had absolutely no hope. Once each realizes this they silently take each other's hands and bravely face their fate. How does this contact change things? How can you explain the comradery and love conveyed by holding someone's hand? God gave us hands for this.

What a creative God we serve! Who else could invent something so universally necessary as the hand or the dream? God has given you the most beautiful world full of expressions of His love for you, including, but not limited to, your own hands. Wow. I hope you marvel at God today.

~Elyz~

As the plot thickens...

I always thought I understood the general outline for how my life was going to go. I understood since before I can remember that I was going to grow up and do averagely in school and then move on to some average college. I would then perhaps meet a strikingly handsome, strong and talented Christian man (presumably rich and famous but not necessarily) by some cliche coincidence (ie: me tripping and falling into his *vampirefast* arms). We would "fall in love" the next day and get married the summer after we graduated. After possibly taking a few years to travel we would have 2.5 children and raise them in a very boring subdivision. They would grow up and then we would retire and possibly travel some more.

What scares me most is that I was alright with all of this. This would have been perfectly enough to make me happy in life, which is pathetic. Which is why I have redefined what culture taught me to hope for.

I did graduate high school slightly above average and go to a slightly above average college. However I'm not okay with only a slightly above average life.

So I've created a Bucket List-ish.

I thought I would post some of my favorites from it and get ideas for more, so here it goes:

**Get into a Broadway show.
**Play a gig.
**Meet someone famous.
**Skydive.(although i have a paralyzing fear of heights.)
**Do something epic.
**Eat a bug.
**Sail.
**Give up everything for the Gospel of Christ.

These are just my favorites. (I have tons more)
So here we go comment below! (+500 pts. for ryhmning.)

~Elyz~

The Great Escape

"But still the clever north wind was not satisfied. It spoke to Vianne of towns yet to be visited, friends in need yet to be discovered, battles yet to be fought..." ~Chocolat

Every now and then that clever north wind starts to howl and it's very difficult to be content with my little city that I've inhabited just a bit too long. Today is one of those days. And not just because it's incredibly windy. I want a new city to discover, new people to figure out, people who don't know my name. It may sound like I'm running away, but that's not really true. I do love this city and it's myriad of tangled up stories of the people who have shaped me and I have in turn shaped. However, the stories get too tangled up some days and I want to pull myself from the torn bush of my past and plant myself somewhere clear and become a part of their stories too.

However, every time I attempt to extricate myself I end up back in the tangled web either because of money or time. But I still push for that one day when I will board a plane with a few bags to make my own way in the world. Armed with a Bible and a couple bucks. Maybe Fender too.

I always wondered what it would be like to be a street performer.

*Sigh* The wind keeps howling...


Prague, Czech Republic


Ireland


Machu Pichu, Peru


Venice, Italy


Mykonos, Greece


Nauru

What You Love More Than Love

So the question of the day: What do I love more than affection?

Well the obvious answer: the Gospel.

What all this means:
I'm beginning to realize how selfish I am in my love. I love "love." My favorite songs are "love" songs. Right now my Grooveshark account songs include ones like, "If You Won't"(Jesse Harris), "What I did for Love"(Original Broadway Cast), "A Wish"(Gregory and the Hawk), "As Long as You're Mine"(Indina Menzel), "Vulnerable"(Secondhand Serenade), and "The Scientist"(Coldplay). My favorite books are Twilight. Even my style I would clasify as romanitc. I am obsessed with "love." I am most definitely a hopeless romanitc.

Why?

I'll admit I love affection. I love being loved. But right now I'm working on being content with what God has given me. If I can't be happy on my own, no man will ever make me happy. So I'm looking for what I love more than "love."

I love people. I love watching new people and trying to come up with their lives in my head. Yes, yes I know I'm "judging" people, but I'm not hating on them it's just my actress side flaring up and wanting to create people from what I see of them. I love figuring people out.

I love sound. I love making music. There's not much I can say about this except that I just love the way sound conducts emotion and thought without words. I have always loved music.

I love motion. I love dance in this way, I just love letting the free energy that's been pent up for long periods of time be conducted by this previously mentioned love of music. I love regimented motion as well, the feeling of marching and being precise. Other times I love disordered motion, when dancing just to feel the wind against your skin.

I love words. I love the hidden meanings in words. This is why I love to write. I love creating new meaning for old words and using them in new ways especially when you can more clearly express thoughts this way.

I love color. However not as much as a good artist friend of mine. I love the way God creates works of art that we mostly pass by. I love the looks of the brick here on campus contrasting the huge trees and chameleon leaves. I love the combination of sight sound and smell of the ocean. The whole of it works together to create an indescribable gift that you could sit and think on for hours and never get bored.

All these things are better than affection and more necessary, however I have to keep falling back on that promise that Christ is all I need.

At the suggestion of a friend, I'm debating going on a fast for a day, whenever I have a day that I can focus on God. On this day I would go somewhere alone and spend the entirety of the day with God and His Word. No food. Maybe some water. No music. No company. Just me and God. It's all to prove to myself that God is, in fact, more necessary than water or food or company or music or anything at all. That Christ wasn't kidding when He said that He is all you need. That His "food" is to do the Father's will. I want that to be my food and not human affection.

Because I don't need it, but humanly I want it.

But I want to want God more.

~Elyz~

Bloody Bunnies

Andrea,
When I feel I'm going to vomit a rabbit I rush to a private restroom and quitely heave over the dingy sink. It takes only a moment and makes me sweat something terrible. They usually come out struggling and covered in blood however I've no idea if it's mine or theirs. I stare off and try to steady my breath. When they finally tumble out, they sprawl into the sink and shake like a little dog. A wave of sweet exhausted relief washes over me, and I sprawl out on the equally dingy floor.

I've come to realize they don't fit down a typical toilet pipe and have resorted to carrying them with me in my trench-coat pocket. I wash them in the sink, wrap them in paper towels and place them, squirming into my wide pocket. They cause a terrible fuss all day and distract me with their constant nibbling. However they aren't tame so I'm forced to hide them as if I'm ashamed.

But I'm not...not really. They are simply nothing to be proud of. They aren't greatly beautiful or talented or even cute. But monstrous disfigured things. I don't think anyone would care for them and so I hide them all day long.

Upon arriving home I lock them away in a large box with holes in the lid along with all the other vomitted bunnies. I never feed them, in hopes that the little wretches will starve, however as soon as one dies the others eat them and so the fittest never die. Some become tolerably beautiful and so I take them out from time to time and play with them and even feed them. Some I take to show others as if they were my pets, however I have to do this very carefully because I've lost several to theft and murder.

I don't desire to stop this habit necessarily. However, I do wish I could at least vomit one which would be impressive in some way. They do nibble holes all over my pockets and I am forced to sew up the holes time and again. The whole practice has become an odd habit, however I never really seem to be confident in the process as each rabbit is so vastly different from the last. I've tried several times to use this as a talent, and perform a sort of magic with it, however I can never force one out and am therefore not able to use it to much use as a profession.

I hope this does not alter our friendship, as you've always known me to be an odd individual and never had any qualms about it. In my own defense, I'll have you know that I've known several people in my day that have stranger illnesses and they seem to be just fine people all the same.

~Elyz~

(Commentary: For those of you who have not read "A Letter to a Young Lady in Paris" by Cortazar, this is a work which I've based off my reaction to reading his short story and I in no way have begun to vomit actual rabbits. It's symbolic and half the fun of reading such a work is coming up with your own interpretaion of what it means. Which I'd love to hear about as well, haha!
For those of you who have read it, I, IN NO WAY, intend to end the story the same as he does, because my point of writing it is to show that one may "vomit bunnies" without that same unfortunate ending. That you can still live with yourself in such a case and control such "bunnies."
The end.)

Like a Knife: Secondhand Serenade

Lyrics say more than I can say and somehow still less than I feel. Pandora can read minds. I've been going back and writing some more and this is more appropriate than ever. If you were wondering, yes, I am a drama queen.

Like a Knife:
by: Secondhand Serenade

I dream a lot, I know you say
I've got to get away.
"The world is not yours for the taking"
Is all you ever say.
I know I'm not the best for you,
But promise that you'll stay.
Cause if I watch you go,
You'll see me wasting, you'll see me wasting away

Cause today, you walked out of my life
Cause today, your words felt like a knife
I'm not living this life.

Goodbyes are meant for lonely people standing in the rain
And no matter where I go it's always pouring all the same.
These streets are filled with memories
Both perfect and in pain
And all I wanna do is love you
But I'm the only one to blame.

Cause today, you walked out of my life
Cause today, your words felt like a knife
I'm not living this life.

But what do I know, if you're leaving
All you did was stop the bleeding.
But these scars will stay forever,
These scars will stay forever
And these words they have no meaning
If we cannot find the feeling
That we held on to together
Try your hardest to remember

Stay with me,
Or watch me bleed,
I need you just to breathe.

Cause today, you walked out of my life
(Stay with me, or watch me bleed)
Cause today, your words felt like a knife
(I need you just to breathe.)
I'm not living this life

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3B_4wAra5P8)

~Elyz