The Color Of Hunger

Archive for January 2010

(Originally written the night of my 19th birthday – January 24th, 2010.)


Feelings emerge now, that weren’t there before. A sense of calmness comes over me. My heart stops racing, I’m consumed by experience. I long to put you in this picture so badly, to put you in MY picture. I wanna savor this right here with the world. I feel like I’m in a tropical rainforest of floating trees and swinging monkeys. And they all connect through the branches. And they’re eating chicken nuggets. Jesus.

This music feels like the DJ’s got saw blades for fingers. Patterned saw blades though, so they align perfectly atop the record. He free lances the spinning black disk, shadows left lingering as the volume knob goes up. It keeps my head so far underwater. I’m drowning in FACE and eighth notes. These sounds are on fire, aflame, full of heat, burning on my eardrums. This beat is popping brain cells like bubble wrap. I can hear them explode in plasticity. Or whatever the hell they’re made of. I try to pull away, but this music twirks my mind. Twirkage of the mind.

Coloring in colors is so underrated. Why haven’t I come to this conclusion before? Drawings are so deceptive right now. Like, I’ll have my mind set on drawing a certain thing, and then just totally lose my concentration and move on to a segment of the paper that’s brighter or that has more leeway. I’ve noticed this a lot in the past two hours. I’ll leave myself lots of leeway, just in case my mind vacates halfway through my original drawing. I’ve noticed, also, that drawing things without looking down at what I’m drawing is surprisingly entertaining. It’s even better when I do look down and everything turns out okay. And then there’s all that leeway everywhere. That’s the best.

Streaming lines of fluctuating colors litter my inner eyelids. Shooting stars, and I’m sitting inside. I stretch triangles to form non-polygons. Detached at the vertex, my base serves no purpose. I poke out my angles and bend sideways at the fulcrum. As I try recapturing moments, I stutter. My mind’s not responding, my mouth begins to water. (This shit’s so good, it’s crooked.) I look down through the clear glass and Red Bull leftovers. It’s blocking my view, but I’ve still got my perspective. Ahhh, my perspective.

My eyes float in Capricorns, my ears rest on Saturn. The moon is so bright tonight, I can’t help but stare. My imagination visits angels, catching up on old times and past recollections. I’ve been up here before, too. But I’m always still amazed at how beautiful it is. God hand delivers Hawaiian blankets to my cloud and ESPN comes in clearly on the television. It’s awesome. It’s like vacation without the turbulence or sunburns.

Everything sort of all just blends together now. Like my hands. Oh man, my hands. I find them sculpting cartoons in blank pieces of wall. Whoa. I’m tingling at the fingertips in a sensation I never thought possible. You know that feeling, you know the one. Where you pop yer neck in just the right spot, so it numbs the entire upper portion of yer spinal cord. I’m feeling that feeling, but in a good tingly feeling instead of pain. (It hurts so good.)

Lava is oozing from his brain and her clouds melt together to create one big one. Coughing non-stop, their lungs are constantly flexing. They’re mouth washing air. They’re stuck at a standstill. Oh so high. So very very high. What a rush; exhilarating, exciting. I feel so pure, I can’t possibly feel guilty for doing this. My writing makes no sense, but it’s fun that way. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, though. Creativity falters to lack of sleep. Residues of thoughts. Too bad the closest I’ll get to a brain storm tonight is a light drizzle. Dayum, dayum, dayum.


Words can’t explain it, they just can’t. But by God, I’ll try.

I felt like I was a live wire, like I HAD to be doing something, whether it was talking or walking or ANYTHING. My mind and body were in super fast mode, but nothing I did made me satisfied. No matter what I was doing, I felt like I HAD to be doing something else. I wanted to be able to lie in my bed, to just stare at shit in my room and get lost in deep thoughts and crazy visuals (which I did get a decent amount of), but I kept finding myself unable to sit still and just think. God, it was so weird.

The closed eye visuals were absolutely incredible. They were always changing and complexifying, but most of the time I’d end up with a mix of rotating shapes and random strands of light surrounding those shapes. I remember looking at it and thinking how cool it would be to draw the thing, but I realized it was impossible because it was multi-dimensional and constantly changing its structure.

I think shrooms prove challenging to artists and writers in particular. Because as a writer, I’m always trying to grab hold of themes and always trying to provide basis on whatever it is I’m writing about. When I’m fryin’, there’s nothing to grab. And it messes with me. There’s no reality crutch – reality’s missing her crutches. EVERYTHING is swarming with life, and I just can’t grab EVERYTHING.

At one point, I couldn’t feel my body anymore. I knew I was lying on my back somewhere on the floor, but I couldn’t feel it. My consciousness was an independent person within me, which simultaneously had no start or end. It just WAS. I felt so connected to that floor, too. If I were to have gotten up while still feeling this, I’d have lost a part of me. That’s how connected I was.

I remember being on the phone with one of my good friends at the peak of my trip. Kaneeka I think it was. I don’t really recall the conversation, but I remember repeating things 3 or 4 times back to back because for some strange reason, I thought my vowels were stuck in the receiver. Like they were prohibited from entering the phone line or something. I would try talking louder, but my throat was too sore from laughing earlier. It was so unreal.

When my trip started slowing down, I started visiting different places in some sort of realm that I could only perceive through emotional feelings. (They radiated feels that had color.) The ceiling beams spoke to me in gorgeous forms of Italian and it was so frustrating because I wanted to understand them, but I wasn’t fluent in Italian. And so I stood there mesmerized by their accents for close to twenty minutes, hoping maybe, just maybe they’d switch to English. But they never did.

It’s funny how every high I’ve experienced has some sort of a thematic element wrapped inside of it. This time my theme was “Combining Worlds; Do You See What I See?”. Because every room had a unique vibe to it. Some were kinda scary, like the laundry room. (It was so small and cluttered; I felt trapped and claustrophobic there.) But others, like my room and the bathroom, were so incredible. It felt like I was discovering new territory every time I walked in. The rooms were the ‘worlds’ and by combining them, I was constantly absorbing new information.

And then I’d try explaining this to all my fellow shroomers (there were 6 of us). Like, do you see/feel/hear what I’m currently seeing/hearing/feeling. And most of the time it would be a lost cause, but every now and then, I’d be on the same wavelength as somebody else. And it was so exciting for me when this happened. I got that ‘I belong here’ feeling and it made me feel like less of a loony because I wasn’t the only one experiencing what I was experiencing. If that makes any sense at all.


(My best friend Bree and her step-mom remodeled their downstairs bathroom about a week before New Year’s. It looks really nice and smells even nicer. So I was forced to write her an appreciation letter.)

Written on December 31st, 2009 during the trip down to Tri-Cities.

Dear Sue,
I am totally diggin’ the new look of yer bathroom. The shades of brown, like, make the place come alive. I half-expected the toilet to wish me a happy new year after doing my business in there this morning. In fact, my whole day was instantly made ten times better just by stepping foot in there. The sheer awesomeness of the interior blindsided me, like when people answer the ‘how are you’ question in the negative. I actually forgot what I went in there for in the first place. But then I remembered. It’s a good thing I chose yer bathroom over the upstairs one, too. It was the most peaceful pot experience yet; I became one with the toilet. It was quite magical.
Hopefully, I’ll have a bathroom like yers when I get to heaven. If God cuts me short on this one, I’m gonna be super pissed. Even if my afterlife consists of a gigantic mansion with built-in elevators and an indoor football field, it wouldn’t be the same with just a ‘normal’ bathroom. Life (or afterlife, I guess) would suck. If God gave me the choice of having the mansion or having a bathroom like yers, I’d pick the bathroom, no question.
Hell, I’d even be content living in there. You bet yer ass I would. Pshh, screw the mansion, I got me Sue’s bathroom. Sure the bathtub wouldn’t be the most comfortable choice for a bed, and I suppose starvation would kill me off after a few days, but until then I’d be a pretty happy kid. A pretty happy kid indeed.

I’ve figured out that when I write, I tend to focus on fictional stuff as compared to non-fictional stuff. I’m just better at it. (Good at making stuff up, yea Mom really wants to hear that one, haha!) For example, when I write about non-fictional stuff, I find myself ranting or complaining about something and that’s never fun. Unless it’s sprinkled with humor. That’s cool. I refer to this genre as “Bitching In Color”. Everybody’s doing it. Haha, just kidding.


I haven’t been writing much lately though, due to the fact that my laptop committed suicide via motherboard approximately two weeks ago today. I’m now forced to use the fantastic piece of dying metal in the corner of the living room better known as ‘the family computer’. This sucks some major D. I’ll list my reasons why.

1. It’s dial-up.

2. It constantly overheats and shuts itself down whenever it feels like it.

3. It’s dial-up.

4. All four people in the house use it.

5. It’s dial-up.

6. Privacy and hiding content is impossible.

7. It’s dial-up.

8. Loading video streams is like trying to skip rocks with yer weak hand.

9. It’s dial-up.

10. There’s no Itunes, only Windows Media Player. (Triple frowny face.)

11. It’s dial-up.

12. Whenever I try to install new software for it, Mom verbally attacks me, because apparently it slows the Internet down. (Good Lord.)

I went to the famous Geek Squad the other day, in hopes of reviving my other half. When they told me it’d take between $300-600 to fix the damn thing, I almost shit my pants. $300-600??? I might as well just get a brand new one with that kind of money. So then I asked the skinny guy that had first diagnosed my laptop if it’d be possible to reconnect the hard drive if I did end up going new. (This would include all my music, pictures, videos, etc.) He said he could. He also said he could plug it into any model, and that it wouldn’t have to be another Acer. This made my day a little brighter, just a little. But then he ruined it by saying it would cost me $100 to do so. Damn it.

I left Best Buy super bummed, so I walked down to Fred Meyer’s for some food and Starbucks. Food’s the best when yer down. That sentence makes me sound like a total fatass, but hey I’m just speakin’ the truth. I love eating. When other people make it for you, it’s the best, too. (I’m a total lazyass as well, don’t judge. Haha.) Anywho, along my Fred Meyer’s safari, I came across a small little computer repair shop with a thinly lit sign in front that read WKA Innovations Incorporated – “We let you love your computer again!”. Oh jeez, I thought, these guys can’t be for real. Hell, they got a parking lot with three spaces and they’re prolly not even registered with the BBB. But maybe a second opinion wouldn’t hurt. So I walked in, despite my doubts.

Looks are very deceiving, let me tell you. The minute I entered this place, I was immediately greeted with a vibrant personality coming from a woman who, just by first glance, you could tell was a tad on the smarter side. I pulled out my laptop and started telling her about how I just came from the Geek Squad and how much money they told me it would cost to fix and how there’s no way I’d be paying that. She kinda laughed and told me that the Geek Squad is prolly the most overrated group of computer fixers on the planet. She said they use their popularity as an excuse to over charge people and in turn, use that money to commercialize their services on TV. I’m not sure if this is true and I’m not saying I believe any of it, considering it’s coming from a competitor, but it sure as hell makes sense. I asked her how much it would cost me then, if I decided to leave my computer here for her company to fix. She handed me a fancy pamphlet that had one price on it.


These guys’ll fix any problem with any computer, no matter how long it takes them, for $75. And even better, they’ll give you yer money back if they can’t fix it, and won’t charge for any labor. Wowzers, what a find.

So now that I’ve got some birthday money to spare (Mom handed me 100 bucks cuz she said she can’t shop for me cuz I never like what she gets me. Which is true, and even though it’s taken her 19 years to realize it, I respect her for realizing it.), bringing my laptop to WKA Innovations Incorporated is my next big project. Sometime this week, I’ll head out there. And when I do, there shall be more writing, and more blogging, and all that good stuff. So don’t give up on me yet, I’ve just been forced to use ‘the family computer’ (shudder, shudder) these last couple of weeks. Over and out.

He explores her bare body through hungry eyes.
Innocent urges of curiosity, concentration at its peak.
Skin is a beautiful organ of touch.
She knows this,
And so does he.
Casual persuasion; he undresses with nimble fingers.
Kissing her ribs and counting each one out loud.
Papers scatter now, these desks turn dirty.
No limitations on this journey.
Yielding to emotion – viewer discretion is advised.
Questioning nothing, he provides all her answers.
Sudden movement / static breathing.
In Out In Out
Addressing time in slow-motion.
Hours fade to noises.
Satisfaction is yummy.
Encouraging whispers tickle her eardrum; distinct smells of warmth echoing.
She’s getting lost in the ride, thrust forward then back again.
Sensations powered by a V8 engine.
Tan skin connects with pale – a color clash of outer ego.
Her bottom lip quivers uncontrollably; a shiver on steroids.
This feeling is so surreal.
Laments the Student:
Teach me bonus, man with power.
(We’ve only just begun.)
After school again, so comfortable in your presence here.
Energy flows to the toes, my muscles surrender to pleasure.
So young. So ALIVE.
Special attention, I want it / I crave it / I need it.
(You got it, you give it.)
Light this love on fire, one more time.
I fall submissive to the afterglow.
Loose + relaxed + excited + stimulated; all at once.
Challenging my senses, but I accept.
I’ve stumbled upon perfection today,
And just had to explain it.

I’m not sure why I called in the first place. You never pick up anyways.

I wish I could have x-ray vision. But for feelings. Then I wouldn’t hafta guess anymore. I’d actually fall asleep within ten minutes of hitting the pillow. I’d actually know what to expect in return when my mind gets to those clingy and obsessed stages. Fuck I hate those stages. I never had those stages before you came into my life. I actually hafta make myself not want you, or else yer all I think about.

I feel like I’m following Hansel and Gretel. But you’ve got all the clocks in the world on pause and an unlimited supply of bread crumbs. I’ll get to a curve in the path sometimes and loose track of the trail. He’ll come back for me, I tell myself, emotions shaky, confidence shakier. (The broken is the beautiful, right love?) But you never do. I’m left to find my bearings all alone in these creepy woods. The trees are always laced with unfulfilled needs and wants. The forest constantly reeks. Strong whiffs of could-have-been’s and I-wishes get trapped in the linings of my nostrils, even when I come across the crumbs again.

My need’s dominating my want tonight. That’s never good. Potential danger is no stranger when the need overrides the want. Shit gets ugly, attachments grow stale, and most of all, desire becomes a deceiving enemy. I find myself in an epic battle with that word. Not a bloody one, just a simple scuffle. A Looney Tunes chase, per say, where nobody gets hurt and everybody goes back to normal at the end. Me versus Desire. But not vice versa.

Just give me a compass of yer sensitive side. Please? I know you have one, I’ve seen it. I crave the man I used to spend endless hours on the phone with. Not just for a quick fuck either. There was meaning behind the words we exchanged. At least I thought there was. Or am I just lost in those woods again?

When I search for yer bread crumbs, I search everywhere. Sometimes for days. Being lost is no fun, especially in those woods. I’ll get to that breaking point where nothing seems to matter much anymore and giving up is inevitable. The wildlife are protagonists, I’ve learned. They wipe my tears away with gentle paws and tilt my head up so I have no choice but to connect watery blue pupils with them. Lacking the ability to speak with their mouths, they use their eyes.

It’s amazing how silent love can be. An infinite language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see. So powerful, so distinct. I sit there for what seems like forever, locking irises with these creatures of inspiration. Until finally, they’ll bat an eyelash and force me to break my gaze. Slowly, without missing a beat, they point in unison at a tiny piece of bread underneath a fresh pile of leaves. I must have overlooked this spot before, must have walked right past it. Then they disappear among the masses of trees before I can even thank them.

I dust my knees off quickly with both hands and recover from where I left off. I suppose you’ve forgotten about me by now though. It’s been too long, I don’t blame you. And I’m sure you don’t either. But yet I continue following this twisted path. I can’t help it. I’m stuck on this endless journey of undeniable lust and blind reactions. Why won’t you come back for me? I’m so sick of following. Be by my side this time, I need a hand. A man’s hand. My man’s hand.

When people laugh and ask me what I see in you, I simply tell them “everything you don’t.” I never lack courage here, and why would I? By loving me, yer teaching me how to love myself. Love is life, and if you miss love, you miss life. And I guess it’s so incredible to me because I’ve never felt it this strongly before. I’m high without smoke, without pills. Everything I do is so enhanced and brighter with you on my mind. It sounds so fucking cliche, too. But it’s….true? Yea, true.

So this is my life. And I just want you to know that I am both happy and sad, but I’m still trying to figure out how that can be.

Dear Potential Employer,

Hello there, my name is Bryanna Pavlish. I am an unemployed 18 year old (two weeks until I’m 19) who cannot seem to find a job to save my life. Seriously.

I’ve been through countless interviews, (Longhorn BBQ, Subway, Northern Quest, Screen Tag, Rocky Mt. Chocolate Factory, Oz Fitness — just to name a few), but all employers seem to care about these days is the amount of experience their potential employee has. This sucks. All throughout high school, I was involved in sports. Proud Tri-Athlete Of The Year for Cheney High School, Class of 09′, in fact. The busy schedule I had with all the practices and weird game times made it impossible for me to get a job. Nobody wanted a young kid who was still in high school with zero flexibility. And who could blame them? The summer after graduation (last summer) I started working for a company called Regal Security. I was a door to door sales person who advertised/sold home security systems. Not the easiest first job, but I loved my co-workers and really enjoyed what I did. However, it was only a seasonal position, thus leaving me where I am now – unemployed.

I’m tired of replying to blind postings that I later find out to be spam. I’m tired of wasting my time with bogus sales positions with weak commission rates. I’m tired of Mom waking me up everyday, asking me if I’m going job hunting or not. But most of all, I’m tired of witnessing lazy employees who could give a rip less about their job, knowing damn well that I could be putting way more potential into my work than they currently are.

I actually WANT to work. I’m not FORCED to, like some people who depend on their salary to support their families and pay their bills. (God bless those people, this economy is nuts.) I can go on and on about how hard of a worker I am, how great I work with others, how I’m always on time, blah blah BLAH. But why would I waste my time doing that? EVERYBODY and their mom puts that stuff on the resume. So, I have no choice but to tell the truth and attempt to describe myself differently than everybody else in this melting pot of jobless individuals better known as “Spokane/Washington/America/The World”. Here goes nothin’.

I live at home, going back and forth between mom’s house and dad’s. I don’t have any bills, no school, and certainly no kids. I do have a valid drivers license, but no car. I get to my destinations by city bus. I can tell you almost every route without even having to look at an STA pamphlet. I am not a methhead and will never ever come to work hungover. If I do show up late, I’ll tell you exactly the reason why, straight up, and won’t try to BS you with how my car wouldn’t start, or how my dog was sick, or how Grandma died earlier that day. A wise man once told me to never ruin an apology with an excuse. I live by these words and have yet to cross them. Blaming fellow co-workers for a mistake that I caused is overrated and will always come back to get me, which is why honesty IS the best policy.

I love humor and finding something to laugh about in everything that I do. Make a joke, and I promise I’ll laugh with you, even if it’s not remotely funny. Writing will always be a passion of mine, and I’m actually quite good at it. I absolutely love expressing my views through a pencil and a piece of paper. I do have my own blog. It’s a work in progress, but I can’t complain over what I have so far. Pretty much everything you wanted to know about me is on there and then some.

I’m a big believer in positive attitudes. If you don’t got one, get one. It’s as simple as that. People don’t wanna talk or listen to a girl who hates her job and openly shows it. Heck no. Personality is a key factor in living a successful and happy life, and first impressions will always be remembered, whether they’re fair or not. I consider myself to be a pretty smart kid, who listens when spoken to and follows directions thoroughly and correctly. If I have any questions about what I’m being told to do, I won’t hesitate to ask. Believe me, I love asking questions and applying logic and sense to stuff I don’t fully understand. It’s fun, and learning new things is always fun for me.

I don’t really have any special skills and I won’t try making any up either. I do know a little Spanish thanks to two years of it in high school and can carry on a basic conversation with you, if you speak slow enough. I can type about 40 wpm and photo editing with programs such as Ifranview, Picasa 3, and Microsoft Photo Editor is a passionate hobby of mine. I’m a very athletic person, so prolonged periods on my feet, or heavy lifting wouldn’t be a problem. Pets are awesome. I’m a big animal lover and anything to do with them makes me love life a little bit more each time. My job as a door to door sales person left me with a lot of confidence, so I’m always up for a challenge. If I had to pick one thing that I’m not good at, I’d have to say confrontation. Patience is one of my better characteristics by far, but I hate arguing with someone and I hate having to choose sides. It just makes everything complicated and leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

I truly don’t care where I end up working at this point, so long as I have an hourly wage. Commission was great, but definetly had its downfalls. Please, if yer still reading this, hire me. Just do it. You won’t be disappointed, I promise. I will work my ass off and be happy doing it. I’m so sick of job hunting and getting nowhere. It’s so frustrating taking the time to revise my resume, write a cover letter, go to the place that’s hiring, and turn it all in, just to be beat out by the next guy who’s older than me and possesses more experience than I do. Even if it’s just volunteer stuff at first, put me to work. I’m begging you.

Sincerely ~ Me

I miss…

  • being considered an athlete.
  • being considered not just an athlete, but a damn good one at that.
  • the pre-game stretches.
  • popping my left hip in just the right spot during those stretches.
  • how flexible I used to be.
  • discovering that hey, I actually do have an arm.
  • zoning out to my music during all the long bus rides.
  • the pressures of being the only senior in my event.
  • the satisfaction I got beating my PR, even if it was only by a few inches.
  • slacking off during practice by finding new body parts to tape every other day.
  • the adrenaline I acquired warming up.
  • finding something to get pissed off at and taking it out on my throws.
  • cracking my knuckles before grabbing my stick.
  • the little indent my red javelin had between the grip and the metal part.
  • jogging from disc to jav to vault.
  • Stralser yelling at me to jog faster.
  • finding different excuses on why I shouldn’t high jump.
  • Drew not buying my lame-ass excuses.
  • the lean skinny build I used to have.
  • pre-analyzing the competition.
  • making fun of Medical Lake and how bad they sucked.
  • the patience Leah and Coach B. had when I first learned how to throw discus.
  • Crystal listing off all the reasons she shouldn’t be there and how much of a jerk Bob is.
  • improving on the plant boxes, even though I despised them and didn’t understand why we used them so much.
  • Gonzaga Prep’s weird but interesting turf.
  • seeing fans actually enjoy watching me throw.
  • having a purpose behind my day.
  • how awesome State was.
  • playing “Outburst” in the tent until my laptop ran out of battery.
  • searching for an outlet to keep it going.
  • falling asleep on the bus floor with Bruh and Sis on the trips back to Cheney.
  • laughing at the idea of sleeping in the aisle of a school bus in the first place.
  • how hungry I became after competing in a 10+ hour meet.
  • eating at Miner’s.
  • ditching Miner’s for the Starbucks and Wendy’s across the street and getting in trouble for it by almost every coach.
  • chugging Monsters and devouring Power Bars ten minutes before showtime.
  • how perfect my boots fit and how lightweight they were, even for my feet.
  • meeting new people who shared the same strengths and weaknesses as I did.
  • being told ‘good job today’ by a coach from another school I had never even seen before.
  • all the different colors of all the different ribbons.
  • laughing with Sis on how they should make a 9th place ribbon solely for Medical Lake.
  • having homefield advantage.
  • how involved Missel was.
  • the anticipation between the jav landing and the marker person telling me how far it went.
  • the muscle definition I used to have in my shoulders.
  • going to bed the night before and having nothing except the meet on my mind.
  • waking up to get ready and realizing it’s still dark out.
  • putting on my spirit bands and black spandex for good luck after a 45 minute shower.
  • the smell of rain mixed with Under Armour.
  • the sound my spikes made walking on the pavement.
  • Coach Hisaw’s amazing brownies.
  • being a part of the Junior Olympics in Wilamette, Oregon.
  • how the louder the locker room got, the closer it was to the start of the meet.
  • the bounce I had in my step.
  • beating West Valley by almost twice as many points as we had.
  • the thrower’s relays.
  • throwing on Eastern Washington University’s field.
  • movie nights after a good hard day of practice, every Thursday at Cody’s house.
  • everybody rushing to the bathrooms after arriving at the C-towns (Clarkston + Colville).
  • piggyback rides to and from the bus.
  • goofing off with Lex and turning our javelins into fishing poles with stray litter we’d find on the track.
  • Hisaw getting angry at us for it, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.
  • the pole vault crew.
  • the amount of encouragement I got from them.
  • being involved in the younger javelin throwers’ success.
  • doing homework at the meet with fellow athletes as an excellent source of help.
  • how good that medal felt around my neck.
  • all the pride that came with that medal.
  • getting distracted by all the amazingly attractive pole vaulters and their amazingly attractive bodies.
  • being able to bench two-thirds of my weight.
  • running that pre-game lap, sometimes in slippers, sometimes in flip-flops.
  • how huge Pasco’s meet was.
  • the sense of belonging I got when throwing there.
  • using Nike headbands to tie up my hair.
  • waking up early for Saturday morning practices.
  • learning from my mistakes, on and off the field.
  • washing away my nerves with poise and self confidence.
  • pretending to pole vault with my javelin.
  • how pumped up I got over Stralser’s mini motivational speeches.
  • the rush of excitement having my name read off the loudspeaker.
  • never understanding how the announcer always managed to butcher my name.
  • being the last one off the field at practices.
  • ringing the victory bell the day after the meet.
  • admitting proudly that yes, I do love track and field more than softball.

Spokane, WA. 26 years young. Aquarius, of course. I am a very optimistic individual driven by passion and creativity. Music is my inspiration to everything. I dig the nightlife. I enjoy discovering new craft beers and breweries. I like animals more than humans. The ocean is amazing. I have no idea what I wanna do with my life and prolly never will. But I'm going to succeed because I'm crazy enough to think I can.
January 2010
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