I wish we could open our eyes to see in all directions at the same time

At night I dream of all the places I could start a life.

I want to live everywhere.

I want to live in San Francisco and have the summer fog surround me as I walk past the Victorian houses through the rolling hills. I want a house with a sunroom, allowing the light and air and splendor to slowly creep in and out. I want to go to a baseball game right on the bay.

I want to live in San Diego so the sun can bleach my hair. I would feel the sand beneath my stretching toes as I stare at the Pacific Ocean and eat Mexican food every day.

I want to live in Fire Island so I can take long walks barefoot and live in a cramped house with a hammock in the backyard. There wouldn’t be a television, just grass, sand, trees, sun and the occasional deer.

I want to live in a house made of dark wood in Wyoming. I want to sit on the porch swing every morning safely tucked in my blanket and have the sunrise unfold the earth before my eyes.

I want to live in Israel because it is more than a piece of land; it is a promise. I want to discover all that is sacred and incandescent in the world.

I want to live in Oregon because I dreamed of living there as a child. I want to sit by the ocean and search for whales, taking in their grace and serenity. I want to pick buckets of blackberries in the warmth of the sun, staining my lips and fingers deep purple every summer. I want to sit on my tree swing inhaling the deep scent of juniper.

I want to live right on a lake and have a dock in the back. I would spend the entire summer jumping off the dock again and again and again, savoring the adventure of free falling. I want to lay there bathing in the moon.

I want to live in a small apartment in Florence. I would experiment with cooking each night and eat gelato more than I should. Then I would watch as the sky is veiled and the city is illuminated, flickering in the smooth marble and water.

I want to live in Savannah. I want to walk through the lush city square filled with towering oaks speckled with Spanish moss and azalea bushes. I want a backyard with a magnolia tree so I’m encircled by nothing except for its sweet scent and humid air. I want to sit in the grass and watch the fireflies sing the sky electric.

I want to live in New York. I want everything in New York. I want a blossoming roof garden, with vines winding around trellises because secret gardens are few and far between. It would be some kind of wonderful. I want to browse the farmer’s market every weekend. When I’m stressed I’ll go to the Museum of Natural History and sit beneath the blue whale until the stillness of the moment engulfs me. I want to find love underground.

I want a home, not just a house.

“It's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it. And then it flows through me like rain. And I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life.”
- American Beauty

Countless lovers under cover of the street

If you had only six words to describe your life story what words would you choose? Ernest Hemingway claimed he could write a great story in six words or less. His story? "For sale: baby shoes, never worn". The fact that it doesn't make sense to me is irrelevent; the story illuminates so much about the person itself. There is something so beautifully personal about a six word story. Each word had such a profound meaning. It took me a long time to truly come up with my six word story and I learned a lot about myself in the process. What is you six word story? Mine?

The road stopped before she did

They paved paradise and put up a parking lot

I love baseball. I love the dirt, the elegant stitching around the glove and ball, the loss and the win. I love the strength and grace, the stolen bases, the diving catches and everything in between. I love bottom of the inning, bases loaded, tied score and the walk-off win. I love that the beauty of baseball is in the details. I love when the ball finds the hole between shortstop and third, Mariano Rivera’s cutter and the trash talking. I love that baseball to me is a comfortable love affair, one that I can never really shake, even in the depths of winter. I love Joe Mauer even though it feels like an illicit affair. I shouldn’t love bench clearing brawls but a small part of me does. I love the pit in my stomach during extra innings. I love holding my breath, squeezing my eyes shut and waiting to hear the ball hit the sweet spot of the bat. I love the vast expanse of a ballpark, the vibrant manicured grass and the perfect symmetry of a baseball diamond. I love the bleacher creatures, hearing Frank sing New York, New York and seeing dirt all over the pinstripes. I love home runs. I love Sandy Koufax. I love bleacher seats in the summer. I love baseball because my parents love baseball. I love my first cap, which is forever lost, but sometimes I will go searching for it in vain. I love that baseball is about forgiveness.

Have you ever been alone in a crowded room?

Life works in mysterious ways. P Hop and I have been talking lately and its funny to think that we were never friends, that we were never this close. Last year we were pretty much acquaintances at best, sharing a random, semi-awkward conversation here and there. And then the Trekkie became an RA and thus Jordana and P Hop were born. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I can't really pinpoint the moment we became great friends, I guess it just gradually happened. But I wouldn't have it any other way. Our rooming situation could have turned out really bad, but it didn't. I like that we were roommates first and then friends because in the end you learn so much about a person living with them. And the bond that rommates share is very unique, just like any other friendship. I'm so lucky not just to have friends but to have wonderful, different relationships with each and every one.

I love singing along to stupid songs with P Hop, fighting over Cinders, having our talks in the dark where we end up laughing hysterically. That's my favorite part about being friends with P Hop; we almost always end up laughing. And laughter, I'm sure we can agree on is one of the most important things in life. I'm really excited to live with P Hop and A Kat next year; its going to be EPIC.

I don't need a witness to know that I survived.

I loved and hated my junior year English class. I hated it because the teacher pushed and pushed and pushed, stripping me and twenty other students down to our bones. I hated that I had to write poetry for the sake of writing poetry. I hated that I had to read my poems out loud in front of the entire junior class. I hated that class with every fiber of my being.

It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I haven't really written poetry since but over winter break I did a different version of one of my original poems, my favorite. Most of the poems we did were copycats, aesthetically at least. In this instance we read the Meg Kearney poem "Creed", which you all should check out, and had us constuct a poem in the similar format based on our beliefs. My revised version ins't a real poem in the sense that I used some song lyrics and thus is plagarized. But I still like the way it turned out. I also realize that this poem is a work in progress and will forever be exactly that. The reason I am sharing this is because I worked really hard on this and I think it gives good insight on me and my life. Enjoy : )

I believe in the strong side to the weak argument, the trashcan shot you barely make and the ill taste in your mouth when you say the wrong thing

I believe in getting lost on the way there and then again on the way back

I believe in The Wonder Years reruns and that you should always wearing sunscreen

I believe in the crunch of the first step in the snow

I believe in the afterglow of a job well done and yes, we can

I believe in obscene amounts of marshmellows in hot chocolate, dancing in vacant elevators and that the designated hitter should be outlawed

I believe in music blaring, windows rolled down, and singing at the top of your lungs is the only way to drive

I believe in the long road trip with your feet hanging out the window and lingering glances across the room

I believe in the occasional cliché and the swing of my hips

I believe that our song is the slamming screen door, that I’m only me when I’m with you and in Taylor Swift

I believe that every day is a compromise and that maybe you’re gonna be the one that saves me

I believe that crayons are meant to be broken and sunrises are always better than sunsets
I believe in singing the body electric

I believe in hammocks, grass stains and writing names in the sky

I believe that life is a voyage that’s homeward bound

I believe that love is right here, holding your hand

I believe in waiting for the sea to stretch out so we can disappear into the endlessness of blue

I believe that real action is in silent moments and that there is something in the New York air that makes sleep useless

I believe in songs that fill the void in an empty room, and that one must get up and dance every time a Spice Girls song is played

I believe that love is not a victory march, it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah

I believe that there is no satisfactory definition for love but music comes pretty close and that in slow motion the blast is beautiful

I believe in kissing the curve of the clavicle, and that home is the last pure thing in this world

I believe in drawing in the fogged glass, the softness of your flannel shirt and going to Shabbat every Friday night

I believe that sometimes there’s nothing wrong with a little destruction and we are wild like children once the black has veiled the sky

I believe that with every broken heart we should become more adventurous and a girl can never have too many pairs of shoes

I don’t believe in heaven but instead the place where soul meets body

I believe in sugar cubes over packets and curling my toes in the grass and sand

I believe in the deep yearning for the rewind button, constellations and that friendship is reciprocity not expectations

I believe in fearing the tusk, eating a banana a day and that two lone lights shining into the sky can bring comfort to lost souls

I believe in the beauty of easy silences, hysterical laughter and obnoxiously large gardens

I believe in feeling invincible when I wear rain boots

I believe in skin on skin and the fear that maybe the world isn't enough for me

That's all for now, but more to come in due time.

Come on up, lay your hands in mine

In general, I'm a fan of college. I love the freedom, that there is always someone to talk to and something to do. I do not however like being sick at college. Being sick in general sucks, but for some reason, at least in my own personal experience, feeling sick at college makes me homesick. I'm a total baby when it comes to being sick and even though I am nineteen freaking years old I still like to be taken care of, which though childish, is also human on some level. Everyone wants to be cared for, loved, even me.

Is it possible to get a person sick from thousands of miles away? My mom has been sick for the past week; every time I talk to her she shounds worse and worse. My theory is she somehow got me sick from one of our many conversations. You dig?