#3

So, I have to be honest. The idea behind this list wasn’t entirely original.
Well, not at all original. It was the idea of a dear friend of mine, and I just kind of stole it.
Oops? I think not.
She’s okay with it. I promise.



I remember lying on the floor of my grandparents’ house in my Bugs Bunny footed Pajamas one Christmas when I was a kid, cradling my box of Stove Top Stuffing (It was on my Christmas list. I was an odd child.). My fingers uncurling the ribbons attached to the shredded red and gold wrapping paper, I began to cry.
At nearly seven years old, I was having a midlife crisis. The idea of growing up and dying had penetrated my mind, and I was a wreck. I was supposed to be enjoying my bridal Barbie and trying on JC Penney’s sweater sets from Memaw, not having a fun sized panic attack on the carpet.
That was the first encounter I had with the fear of death, though it certainly wasn’t the last. It wasn’t until I moved in with longtime friend Aja, that I was able to deal with my semi-irrational fear of death.
Aja had a list, a wonderfully morbid list that I envied; the Funeral List. To Aja, death wasn’t something to panic about. Death, like most other things, was attributed with the same sentiments: shit happens and more than likely, it’s out of your control, so why not make something that celebrates your life instead of mourning it when it’s over.
That year I started a funeral list for myself. It made the concept of death easier for me to grasp.
The rules were simple: Pick one song that meant something to you for every year you’re alive. The songs leading up to the year you start the list need not be in any particular order but the ones that follow need to be chronological.
And thus it began.

[more to come!]

#2

You remember back in the day when, if you lived in a small town, you got married at a young age, made babies, and got on with your life? I thought we had evolved past this point and opted for other things to tide us over until it we thought it was personally best to take a new last name and bare the next generation.

Don't get me wrong, I'm like every other young woman who has thought about a fancy dress, sparkling diamond (or pearl), champagne toast, and a bun in the oven. Yes, I would love to be engaged and have the freedom to plan an awesome, offbeat wedding for my future husband and myself, but I don't want to rush it. I'm not in any hurry to get myself into more debt and be the caretaker of another life.

It's so strange to think that I'm one of the last in a close group of friends to go down this path.
The last single (single used in the tax-filing sense) girl.
The last unsperminated female.
Nontraditional?
Afraid of commitment?
An Old Maid, perhaps?

I'm only 22, I couldn't possibly be classified as any of the prior listed thing, yet. Right? When looking at a sample of my closest friends from junior high and high school...let's face it, the numbers don't lie. One has a son. One is engaged with a wedding in the next few months. One is engaged and pregnant with a baby due in the summer months. One is pregnant with twins. One is a mom of a toddler and is engaged. One is already married.

And then there is me.
I can't help but feel behind the times, but I hear those degree things are kind of important. Guess I'll just focus on that for a little while longer and let things fall into place as they will.

#1

Oh, Iowa city, I lost what little of my innocence I had left in you. I held high my dreams for success and you ripped them from my reach and placed my loft ambitions back on solid ground. I could no longer dream the dreams of photography and words cluttering pages of gloss, because of you and your careless, misunderstanding actions.

I suppose you could say I was given my second chance to make everything right again, and I just didn't take it. Was it because I didn't want to? Didn't really care? Didn't have strong enough passion or drive to do it?

No.

It was because I couldn't. I wouldn't let myself be set up for heartbreak by you again, Iowa City. I will no longer be in the grip of your boozy nights with older reporters and inhibited walks home alone. I couldn't let someone else's dreams and plans for my life be the only blueprint I would follow.

Oh, Iowa City, my heart bled black and gold for you until you beat it black and blue.

Reason

I am enrolled in a class where we are required to write/journal/whatever you want to call it at least three times a week. And since I type better than I handwrite, I'm putting it on here.

So here it goes.