Words

We have so many words, each that conveys a message: 

True words that confront.

     Kind words that encourage. 

          Harsh words that inflict pain. 

               Tender words that comfort. 

                    Angry words that attack. 

                         Flirtatious words that solicit.

                              Ambiguous words that confuse.

                                   Powerful words that command.

                                        Silly words that induce laughter. 

                                   Hurtful words that bring tears. 

                              Melodic words that soothe.

                         Rude words that turn away. 

                    Educated words that lengthen. 

               Slang words that shorten. 

          False words that pretend.

     Calm words that relax.

Poetic words that flow.

Yet with all these words, why can I find none to express my feelings? Why are there no words tender enough to really comfort a hurting friend? Why are there no words kind enough to truly encourage a friend who is down? No words powerful enough to command away a friend's pain? No words silly enough to change tears into laughter? Why are there no words melodic enough to soothe away heartache?

We have so many words, each that conveys a message.

             But words are just that.... words.

30 Day Letter Challenge: Take 2, Day 5

Day 5: Letter to the Last Person Who Hit on You

Dear Jax, 

     Let me start by declaring (for probably the millionth time since that night a few weeks ago) that I still cannot believe you introduced me to your parents as your girlfriend!! Granted it was pretty funny and I may possibly have given you the idea, but I never planned to follow through with it! And then I was caught in the awful position of either confusing your parents by calling you out on your lie or lying right along with you to YOUR PARENTS! I'm sure they are still confused about the whole situation, considering how very eager they were to believe it. I just hope you don't ever tell them all the plans you've worked out for our future, such as the ones we discussed last night. You know, all the interracial babies we'll have some day. "Tomorrow people," as a character from one of my new favorite TV shows calls babies of mixed races: "Little People of Tomorrow." Although I'm somewhat amused at your suggestion of "fielding our own soccer team," I'm not sure I want to birth 11 children, much less raise that many.  A basketball team is much more reasonable in that respect.

     Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, though. Despite our brief, yet recurrent history, you and I would never work as a serious couple for so many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that we are both far too flirtatious for our own well-beings. On the positive side, you proudly represent the West Coast, where I plan on establishing my home in the not-too-distant future, but that alone is quite obviously not enough. We do have some sort of weird chemistry that keeps our friendship fun and, well, flirty, but while that makes for great entertainment for all, sparks burn out quickly. I'm looking for a fire. 

     Still, I won't deny that your attention is flattering and sometimes downright embarrassing, with your over-the-top antics. I've lost count of the number of people you've introduced me to as your girlfriend or future wife, which now regrettably includes my mother, sister, and little brother, along with the recent addition of your parents! I'll even confess that I've occasionally wondered how much of it is still a joke and if I should be careful not to be too encouraging. That is, until I hear about all the girls you "hung out" with each weekend or watch you (usually doubled over with laughter) make advances on any girl that comes with hearing-distance of your cheesy lines, which is actually quite some distance unfortunately. I no longer fear the possibility of leading you on.

     Ah, Jax, it's a shame that the world will never get to experience our adorable black/latino babies and that the USA will be shorted a much-needed superiorly-skilled soccer team, but I'm afraid we're just not meant to be. Tell ya what, though, and I'm only promising this to you with the hope that you will never get a glimpse of this letter, nor will any of my few readers ever hold me to this promise, but if we both waste our youth playing the ever-thrilling game of cat-and-mouse and both remain single and searching at the ripe old age of 42 (my lucky number), we can get married and adopt 11 interracial babies and raise them to love the best sport of all time.

     22 years to go. Start counting.

~Steph

30 Day Letter Challenge: Take 2, Day 4

Day 4: Letter to Something You Have That Belongs to Someone Else

Dear Orange Plastic Bic Lighter, 

     I'm not quite sure how much I'm willing to divulge about how you came to be in my possession. See, at least one, (and probably only one) of my very few readers knows your true owner or at least knows of him. It's not a fun romance story like my friends' Day 4 stories and I guarantee your owner's never getting you back... nothing personal but you're worth about 20 cents to him and the rest of the world. In fact, I doubt he ever realized he had lost you. But I like you because you bring back hilarious, if somewhat embarrassing memories of sophomore year of college. 


     I've never smoked and I don't plan on starting (ever), so there's really no point to keeping you around. I know plenty of people willing to take you or I could even just throw you away. For the past year and a half now, you've been hidden away in my desk, only used when the pyromaniac in me comes out on occasion (just to try to make smoke rings, I swear I'm not setting anything on fire). But unlike that pair of jeans that I keep around as a challenge to myself, I keep you purely for sentimental reasons (none of which have anything to do w/ the boy you belong to).  You represent for me a semester that was filled with fun, craziness, drama, mistakes, laughter, inner turmoil, friendships, and some of the best stories I'll have from my college career. There are many things I regret from that time, and many I'd love to relive often. And you are the only souvenir that remains to remind me of all these things. 

     If that boy, your owner, was a little more responsible I'd be left without any physical representation of such a life-changing period of my life. If he hadn't decided to show off and wave you around my room, threatening with each swoop of his arm to burn down the whole building; if he hadn't been so unstable, so clearly under multiple influences, so that I thought either he or I or both were going to burn that night; if he hadn't been so easily persuaded into handing you over to me, preserving our lives and those of the other 300 people in my dorm, you'd probably be in a trash can somewhere by now, all used up and of no more worth to anyone. Instead, I woke up the following morning to your bright orange plastic cover winking at me from the floor of my still-in-tact room and I knew that it was going to be one insane semester that I'd never forget and I'd be lucky to survive. 


I did survive, surprisingly, and every time I open my drawer and see you again, I know that I will never forget, either.


~Steph

30 Day Letter Challenge: Take 2, Day 3

Day 3: Letter to Something You've Owned for More than 5 Years

Dear 8th Grade Jeans, 

     You have tormented me for quite a while now, sitting in the back of my bottom dresser drawer.  Everyone who knows me knows quite well that I'm not what you'd consider a girly girl in any way, shape, or form.  I really don't care what most people think, find makeup to be too much time and work, and much prefer shorts and a t-shirt to anything nice.  But there are 2 things about my looks that I cannot help but fret about like a high school freshman girl trying to impress the seniors. One is my hair, which I brush several times a day, but the other is my weight. Not in a omg-I-weighed-myself-for-the-eighth-time-today-and-I-gained-a-half-a-pound-so-I-need-to-go-on-a-diet type of worrying, but more because I pride myself on being in some semblance of good shape (despite the fact that I HATE gyms and refuse to go).  

     But, my old pair of jeans, I also get some sort of small pleasure from wearing out my clothes before I outgrow them, and you have defied all logic in that sense.  You were my favorite pair of jeans throughout 8th grade and I wore you quite often. Even in the first year or two of high school, you were frequently grabbed along with a t-shirt in my ten minute dash to get out the door. During these times I went through at least 3 other pairs of jeans, worn out to the point of being discarded, while you remained in tact and ready to go out again.  It's not like you were even a particularly good brand of jeans! I probably got you from Walmart or Kohls and there's absolutely no way you should be in the shape you are in today.

     And so, my goal for the past few years has been to fit into you once again at least long enough to finish the job so that you can retire.  Try as I do, while I have occasionally succeeded in putting you on, wearing you for more than a few hours is more pain than it's worth. And so, dear pants, maybe it's time to give up the fight and admit defeat. Perhaps it's time to accept that I have developed hips and a butt since 8th grade and that there will never come a day when I can squeeze into you again. But I am stubborn and I hate to lose, so it may be a while before I convince myself of the need to surrender.  Until then, jeans, you will continue to sit in the back of my drawer, a reminder of our unfinished business.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

~ Steph

30 Day Letter Challenge: Take 2, Day 2

Day 2: Letter to an Inanimate Object You Hate

Dear Manhole Cover in the road just outside of my apartment, 

    You suck. Either you are not properly situated on your manhole, or else maybe you're warped or something. Whatever the reason, your improper position disrupts my sleep both late at night and early in the morning as traffic races over you thumping, bumping, and clanging with each passing car.  Perhaps my hatred would be less if you were not directly below my window, or if you sat on a less busy road, but my sleep is precious to me and you are stealing it simply by existing. Therefore, I have come to despise you more with each passing night. Nothing personal.

~Steph

30 Day Letter Challenge: Take 2

I officially made it through 2 letters last fall (2.5 unofficially) before failing miserably at this blog.  In all fairness, though, I did warn you. This time, two of my dearest and bestest old friends have created their own letter challenge which looks like way more fun than the first one anyways! 

So here is attempt number two at a 30 day letter challenge. Let's hope I get through at least 5 this time...



Day 1: Letter to a Dinosaur

Dear cockroach, 


I'm not quite sure if you count as a dinosaur, and in fact, I'm not even sure what the qualifications for Dinosaurism are, but for what it's worth, you are a dinosaur in my book.  You lived around the same time, if not before creatures like Little Foot, Petrie, Cera, Ducky, and Spike, and you clearly outlived them.  Plus, you are a creature of nightmares, like the T-Rex and other big scary dinosaurs, so that's good enough for me.


I feel the need to apologize to you, cockroach, for the tragic and somewhat brutal deaths your relatives encountered at the hands of one of my best friends from school, Megan. It must have seemed exceedingly cruel to you, especially since your kind had lived in harmony with the disgusting boys sharing your home for the last year. You are the most peaceful of dinosaurs, preferring to live in hiding, harming no one, taking up little space. But, alas, like any true American, Megan moved in and took over with no respect for the natives, calling you rude names and judging you without even taking the time to get to know you!! Fearing that which was different from herself, Megan decreed that you must leave by any means necessary! 


Thus, the traps were placed, and one by one, you watched your relatives crawl onto that piece of paper, never to come home again.  Perhaps poison would have been an easier way to die than starving to death, squirming with all your might against an invisible glue, but even starvation was better than torture one went through.  In an attempt to be somewhat humane and kill your fellow cockroach quickly, Megan poured soap on it, having heard it would kill the little guy. Unfortunately, asphyxiation is likely an even worse form of death than starvation, and the poor cockroach stood no chance against the dish detergent that drowned the life out of him.



Yet, you my friend, live on, probably somewhere in Megan's apartment, or maybe you got smart and moved elsewhere.  In any case, you come from a long line of survivors, a family of cockroaches, who outlasted the rest of the dinosaurs and the wooly mammoths, survived the Ice Age and the separation of Pangaea, and despite our best efforts, continue to evade the certain death wished on you by humankind. I salute your valiant efforts Sir Cockroach and applaud your tenacity and will to survive. Maybe mankind should take the time to learn from you, since after all, you outnumber us, outlive us, and consistently outsmart us. 


To the only dinosaur I've had the opportunity to meet, 
 It's been a pleasure (mostly).


Sincerely, 
    Steph


Disclaimer: Although I sympathize with your situation, this does not express permission to for you to take up residence in my apartment. Such an act without proper reimbursement will be considered an illegal act and as punishment I will turn you over to Megan and her forms of torture with only very little regret. Please do not bring this upon yourself!!