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My Inner Child

Easter was always the highlight of a year gone by when I was younger. And though it is passing by for the 20th year in a row, I don’t even feel its importance anymore. For one thing, I’m not religious, so the significance of Easter concerning a belief has nothing to do with me. I have no idea as to why I can’t find its impact on me anymore. Up until about 7 years ago, Easter was something I could use to bond with my family. This morning, I didn’t even care about it. It’s just Easter, right? What could possibly be so important about hunting for hard-boiled eggs, or taking pictures with a weird old man dressed as a bunny? As a non-mother AND non-religious person, I will never know. I will continue to baffle, as well as everything else that I’ve experienced that doesn’t seem to have an explanation.

Now I wonder this: Why is it that Valentine’s Day and Christmas is so important? It’s just another celebrated holiday, as is Easter. Why do I find it so important? Could it be because it holds some kind of reason with me? Valentine’s Day I could spend with my boyfriend; Christmas I could give gifts to the people I care about, and talk to most I haven’t heard from since LAST Christmas.

I’m just curious as to why I would hold something such as this as important to myself, when in reality, all these holidays are in relation to eachother, considering the reason-of celebration.

Or maybe I’m just not connecting with my inner child. Maybe I’ve lost her for good and not even realize it. Is it a bad thing? I believe not.

What I’m Made Of

I don’t agree with the decisions parents are making for their children.

Halfway through my Senior year, my parents had started talking to me about going to college. The subject came up more frequently, since they had already been putting the idea through my head when I started high school. Of course, with no idea as to what I wanted to pursue, I made something up in a desperate attempt to Graduate. You needed three letters of recommendation, a letter to the school explaining what you wanted to do, and what experience you had that would qualify you for that particular career, and a letter explaining why you “deserve” to graduate. In my honest opinion, you have absolutely NO idea what you’re doing there. You’re there only to make small decisions. I BS’d my way to graduation. I didn’t want to be left behind. And of course, that’s not the only obstacle I had to get past to finally get myself together.

Shortly after I graduated, I took a placement test for the community college, near where I live: Rogue Community College. If I even wanted to go to any college, it would have been SOU, which is about 50 miles from here. Accordingto my mom, financial aid and grants would never cover the tuition (which she was VERY wrong about). Not to mention Southern Oregon University had much more opportunity, as well as a wider variety of classes and transfer programs. But because I’m the only one on my mom’s side of the family who’s even gotten past the placement test, I registered myself to RCC as a Criminal Justice major. It was an idea that came up to me a few months before the semester would start and I thought I would finally have found my niche and be happy with what I would be spending the rest of my life doing.

Next thing I know, I’m calling my boyfriend at 2 in the morning, in tears and heavy-hearted, not knowing what I should do. I had completely lost interest in the career in which I was attempting to pursue. One more year, and I would’ve completed classes that would allow me to receive my Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice. It wasn’t just this particular night. Going on to my third semester, I had starting doubting myself; second-guessing my decisions through college.

Right now I’m looking for work; trying to get on my feet, find a place of my own, save up money. I may not be working now, and struggling to find it, but it’s much more satisfying putting effort into my life, rather than putting half-hearted effort into something that would’ve made everyone else proud.

Growl & Call It Sexy

A woman wearing a silk, deep-red dress for a romantic date; a brand new Impala, silver lining underneath; the way you feel RIGHT as you’re coming out of the shower, towel around you, hair glistening as it frames your face for the first time during the day.

The fragrance of sandelwood and jasmine; the way a woman walks down the street, hips swaying, hands pursed; feeding your girlfriend strawberries in the hotel room, laying next to her, caressing her thighs and enjoying the sight of how her body curves around yours.

The smell of sex; the waking of a brand new person after you’ve suffered from being beaten and called ugly; the sultry sound of the acousitc tracks, playing throughout the apartment as you make dinner for the man coming home to you from a long day at work.

The way you look at yourself in the mirror, with pleasure and excitement…

We have tabloid magazines in our restroom for “bathroom-reads” and I was looking at pictures of celebrities. Anyone hear of the National Enquirer? Well, we have a stack of that lovely magazine that makes everyone proud of their own stature. I spot a picture of Eva Longoria Parker. A healthy woman. And, in case you were surprised to hear, a healthy body. She looked completely fine. Of course, what did I find when I looked to right of her? Everything wrong with her belly, the apparent “cellulite” located on her thighs and the horrible 117 lbs she weighs. How shallow can people be? I was very surprised at the opinionated comments that lay beside Eva’s picture. She’s a beautiful woman, and how someone can say that about someone who looks perfectly healthy is beyond my own understanding.

What kind of message is that sending to people? That you have to be a size 2 just to be accepted into society? Or that you have to have the perfect-sized ass to look somewhat significant to the celebrities we are surrounded with? The press is amazingly responsive to people who are “mediocre.”

I, however, am very happy with my body. I’m not a size 2, but I’m proud of who I am, inside and out. I’m at the point where I just don’t care what other people say about my physical features. All I need to do is walk down the street, smile on my face, confident stride, and powerful aura, and I’m amazed at how wonderful I feel as a woman. I don’t understand how people in the press can say otherwise about their women whom they report on.