Recently, upon realizing how ridiculous it felt to not say anything, I decided to stop holding my tongue all the time.

And immediately got into two arguments on Facebook, which, of course, is not my venue of choice, but you know, it’s better than a shouting match in a restaurant.

20+ years of keeping quiet results in needing to teach myself to pick my battles, I guess.

It was really just a perfect ending to what has been a predictably terrible month. Predictable because April was so wonderful and life seems to go like that, doesn’t it?

The good news, though, is that it has been so fantastically warm that my potato plants have gone mad and I cannot wait to eat every single one of them. Well, the potatoes, not the plants.

Things can only go up from here, right?

So I found a different valley. There are only so many things you can do on such short notice.

But! Here is a list of things that came in handy when we side-tripped to Wrightsville Beach, all found in the trunk of my car:

- a beach towel left over from last summer’s swimming excursions
- a giant tie-dyed piece of fabric, usable as a thing to lay on sand
- an empty messenger bag, used to carry things to beach and protect cameras, iPods, bottles of water from sand

… all of which I would have piled on the floor of my bedroom before I left.

Very rarely does it pay to be a lazy ass, but I think I found one time it does.

That was Bushwalla at the House of Blues on April 10.

That’s Bushwalla covering “Psycho Killer” by the Talking Heads, and it’s currently one of my favorite things.

And now, because I can read your mind and you love him, here is his album.

And that was my Saturday in Cleveland.

(Seriously, there are not enough beautiful words in the dictionary to describe how much he is my favorite performer and how nice a dude he was last night.)

I am happy about almost everything, but when I am angry, I am angry and I hold onto it. I do not like to direct my anger at the source of it. Instead I keep it for myself, and it’s obvious that’s detrimental. Therapy, though it hasn’t taught me how to properly deal with it, has at least taught me that much.

I’ve been disappointed lately; frustrated by people I had faith in and hopes for. That disappointment became anger recently, and I think I am ready to let it go. There is nothing I can do.

What are you holding onto?

This morning I registered for my last quarter of classes as a business student. I could not be more happy that the end is in sight. This adventure in marketing and sales classes has been the most miserable school has ever made me, and trust me when I say school has made me plenty miserable (see leaving high school only to go back and leave again, then go to several different colleges and so on and so forth). But yes! I will be done. In June. Which isn’t so far away, is it?

Lie to me, okay?

And when I mentioned writing a transfer essay for a different college? Turns out I was worrying for nothing, because I didn’t even have to apply. I filled out the application, wrote the essay, filled it with apologetic “I’m sorry for dropping out of your very expensive institution”s, then got an e-mail telling me I was silly and to fill out the re-admission form and wait to be told to register for classes.

So, soon enough I’ll be back to writing papers and reading books I don’t like and have already read, and I will enjoy it this time, because I’ve seen the other options, and boy do I not like them.

PS: Thanks for the comments on the last post. I appreciate them.

PS (x2): I added a formspring box thingy over in the sidebar just in case anyone ever wants to ask me anything that’s not relevant to a post. Or tell me I’m a jerk. Or you know, whatever.

The only thing I have ever really wanted a degree in is English. In May, I’ll have a degree…in Business. I’ll be in debt, and I’ll have a degree that is both useless to me, and completely, depressingly unwanted. Since accidentally graduating high school a semester early, I’ve told myself I wouldn’t settle – but. This Business degree?

Um. Settling. And for awhile, I was okay with it. I’d let myself be convinced that I’d wasted enough money – and enough time (I mean, I’ve been in college almost five years now; that’s disgusting).

I tried this college once, and like I said – dropped out. And it’s not cheap. It’s even on the “wow, that’s a little expensive” side of not cheap. But it’s what I want. I’m just nervous because how many times are they going to let the same person in based on their fluke-y ACT scores (because there is no way I scored that high based on legitimate knowledge) instead of mediocre transcripts?

And how am I supposed to write a two page transfer essay when all I can think of to say is, “I’ve been in college for five years and would like something to be proud of,” and “I promise I am not as dumb as I seem”?

I look back now, and it is really depressing to realize the way I saw the world. I still like to think I was more open-minded (and open-hearted) than a lot of my peers, but I know now that I missed out on so much because I doubted what was likely, at least part of the time, to be nothing more than generosity.

It’s difficult to know these things about myself. It’s difficult to write them. This past year has been one of discovery, though, and I don’t know how else to continue to go about it other than to a.) open myself up and b.) talk it out.

Recently, I was invited to a home-cooked dinner. Home-cooked dinners are not rare for me – I have them often, but they are not often cooked by strangers or served in a stranger’s home. They are not often eaten after an hour or so that has led to more revelation than is usual in an hour, and they are not often as filling as that one was.

When a person is willing to give you kindness, it isn’t always because they have some ulterior motive. I wish I could teach 14-year-old me that.