To all the little ones...

Today was one of those days.
I feared coming to work.
Yesterday we had a new baby
transfer to us, born at only 24 weeks.
For those who aren't aware, that
is a little over half of regular term.
I left last night, hoping and praying
for this little one.
I saw him with my own two eyes.
A tiny, little guy that could fit in my hand.



I get to work today and the first thing I
check is to see if he made it through the night.
The first night is always the hardest.
There he was, still with us.
I was so happy. This little one had beat
the odds of being so early and only
weighing a little over a pound.



Sadly, my excitement was brought to a halt
only a few hours after I got here.
The baby had passed on...
I, by no means, know what this must be like.
I don't even know what it is like having a child.
I can't even fathom having to deal with
something of that magnitude.
All the people with young children that I know
have healthy kids.



This brought a memory though.
I remember when my grandmother died,
it was the first time someone I was really
close to had passed away.
I remember at her funeral, my cousin and I
walked around the graveyard looking at headstones.
We got to particular part that was for babies.
I remember seeing how old all of them were.
So many innocent little children that were taken
so early.
I had lost someone who had lived a full life.
She had watched her children and most of her
grandchildren grow up.

I just can't imagine...
It makes me thankful for the many people in
my life. The ones I can still hold on to.
And the ones I had to let go of.
And even though I am only 26, I have had
a great life so far.

I am going to go hug little Dillan next time
I see her and thank God that she is healthy.

Life is different and sometimes sucks, but
at least I have it.

love to all.

C

The new hurdles for the future

So I finally figured out the course of the career

path I am going to go. I decided to get my master's

degree in Library Science to be a librarian.

I was trying to figure out if I wanted to get it

in either Creative Writing or LS.

After much thought and conversation with

friends, I decided that a Master's in CW wouldn't

do much more than the Bachelor's degree I

already got almost a year and a half ago.



So I have to take my GRE, beg UNT to take me

even though my GPA is low, and figure out how

I am going to fund all of this without as little debt

as possible. So my track is set, now I just have to get started.



In other news... I have been having a tough time

in the boy department for awhile now, but

recently has become so much more complicated.

I don't even know how to explain it because

I just keep telling myself to leave it all alone.

Saying good-bye and coming around full circle

Saturday my brother left for Houston.
When I dragged myself out of bed at
8 that morning, I was so tired I couldn't
really think of how tough the day was
actually going to be.
My mom, my dad, my other brother and
my brother's girlfriend all helped clean his
empty apartment while the movers moved
it all into the truck my brothers would drive
to Houston once it was all finished.
We finished close to 11 and started saying
good-byes. The severity hadn't yet
crossed my mind that morning.

I was fine until my mom standing next to
me, waving bye to my brother as he drove
away, said to me, "I wasn't ready for this.
For him to move away again."
That's when it finally hit me. At that moment.
I felt my eyes stinging. I knew what this meant.
But I couldn't let it happen yet.
I still had to go to Home Depot with my parents.
We then went to eat some lunch.
Then they helped me put together my "potty" for
the dog that we had purchased at Home Depot.

Once they left, it didn't take but 60 seconds for
the tears to rush to my face.
I laid on my couch for a good half an hour.
Kleenex after Kleenex.
Tear after tear.
Memory after memory.

Sure I know that some may see this as a little
much for someone who is only moving four to five
hours away from me, but that wasn't the issue.
I was crying for my support system breaking apart.
I stared at my eyelids and watched the numerous
memories of the two of us.
Him sleeping in my room for a good year when I
was in elementary school.
All the times I would need even the smallest favor.
They all played back like a slide show film.
All the images blurring with each tear that past
before them.

I told myself this was silly. He was still just a phone
call away. I could call and visit.
I got in the shower and then went to Dana's to hang
out with her and Dillan. This was the best idea, and
I was completely unaware of it.
Dillan made me so happy. Watching a two year old's
innocence and love for so many things.
She started learning my name.
She pushed my hair out of my face, which she does
to her own.
It made me glow with happiness.

One window opening after a door closes.

Is love greater than life?

This past week has been rather interesting.
Work was slow at the beginning of last week,
then like it usually does, it got super busy.
And it hasn't slowed down yet.
The social life has been just as happening as usual.
Trying not to go out as much, and when I do,
to tone it down a lot more.

Last week though, not sure which day it was,
I had an interesting thought cross my mind,
that I have yet to shake.
I thought, how can I possibly think of all
the failed relationships and think that I will find one
that works, and not just for awhile but forever.
I wanted to know what the percent of lasting
relationships compared to those that failed,
either by divorce or whatever.
I am not talking about just liking someone
and the person just not feeling the same,
I am talking about years of two people
trying to make a life together.
I really want to know statistics.

Surely now, it is much more common for
things to crumble, with divorce being so high.
So why is there a thought still put in almost
every woman... or man, I guess, that there
is one person that will just work and that
this person will never leave you?
I am not at all trying to be cynical, I am
just wondering from a scientific perspective
how often this actually happens.
1 out of 5?
1 out of 10?
1 out of 1000?
How many people have a relationship last?
I want to know what I am up against.

I also want to know why we have been
raised to think unrealistically about the situation.
I know people start every relationship hoping that
it will be the one to last.
But I want to know, at what point do you realize
you have hit your maximum?

I have technically, in my adult life, loved one person.
Of course it didn't work.
I was devastated for quite a long time.
But I start every other new endeavor
with the idea that this person might be the one
that will not hurt me,
this person might love me until I die.
This person might love me when I am old,
and my looks have faded.
But how often does that happen?
Is this a foolish thought process to have?

My parents are a perfect example
of a lasting relationship.
They are still going strong over 30 years.
They are a great example for my brothers
and myself.
At the same time though, I see so many other
people my age that come from broken families.
Is it enough to come from a family where your
parents are still together?
Or does the fact that someones parents didn't
stay together give them a higher rate of not
having a lasting relationship?

I remember now when these questions
got stuck in my head,
I had just walked out of seeing (500) Days
of Summer. This movie made me think
of someone like myself.
Someone who has a grand idea of love.
Only to be hurt and wonder if anything
will ever come again.
Now I just want scientific evidence to show
me if this is something I should consider.

I am much a fan of loving even if loosing,
but I wonder at what point do you throw your
hands in the air and say, "Enough is enough."
I want to be happy, but being happy doesn't
ride on just someone else making me happy.
I have learned how to keep myself happy.
I just want to know if all these years of being
told that I will be able to trust someone completely
down the line, is something that is true.

Love, in every sense of the word, to all...

C

To entertain or to relate to?

As I was driving to work today,
I realized the kinds of things that make cry,
as opposed to what makes most people cry.
I don't normally find "sad" things sad.
I find myself tearing up when people do touching things.
For example (these are my cheesy movie examples),
I didn't even come close to crying in The Notebook.
I don't know one person,
other than myself that left with dry eyes after seeing it.
But every time I watch Love Actually I cry when the one
English guy is holding up all the signs.
I tear up when I see a kid walking and holding their dad's hand.
I don't cry at funerals.

I don't even know why this popped in my head today.
I was just driving happily down the Tollway
(which I have a new love for since it's much more pretty than 75),
and I realize this about myself.
Maybe it was because earlier in the day I was listening
to a CD I hadn't heard in years and it brought back
serious memories and the feeling attributed with these memories.
Songs do that to me, they make me feel.
Movies don't usually make me feel. They don't seem "real life"
to me. They never had.
There are only a handful of movies that I think portray real life.
Real emotions. Real feelings.

I remember in my playwriting class in school, my professor
never once liked my stuff, because he said my characters
were too real and they didn't have defining qualities.
I was shocked when he said this.
I never enjoyed being just entertained, I like to feel something.
Apparently I am one in a few that feel this way, especially
when it comes to movies.
Sure, I go see movies just for entertainment, but none of them
ever make my favorite list.
I want goosebumps. I want to feel something for the character.
I want to hate them or love them by the end.

So many people love just mindless things. Just being entertained.
Not actually having to think about something. Never having
to actually use their mind to figure something out.
Case and point of reality TV.
And one thing I never understood was why it was called "reality".
None of the people are in "real life".
The cameras alter real life, the money they are getting from it
alters real life.

I never wrote characters that didn't seem real to me.
I can't imagine trying to make a character that I
couldn't see myself relating to.
Maybe this is the key to why I am don't have a book already.
Maybe this is why I don't work in the field.
I think I am okay with that though.

I was once asked if I wrote a book and Hollywood bought it
to make a movie out of it, and I got millions of dollars for it,
but I had to change the ending, if I would do it.
And to this day I think my answer would be no.
I think if I spent that much time and energy
and so much of my being into a book that was exactly like
I wanted it, that money could just change it.
I stand very firm on that.
I wouldn't sell my work so it could "entertain" people.
I want people to relate.

I think that is the key to some artists.
They thrive on the people that relate.
Not the people that are entertained.
That is what I strive for at least.

Love to all...

C

1000 Things (Sorry Jason Mraz, I stole your song title)

I have 1000 things running through my head today.
The most terrible part is that I cannot decipher through any of them.
None of these things can be fixed and stored away.
They just have to stay there for weeks or months or maybe years.

I have been thinking a lot lately about what makes me different.
What makes me, Caroline?
And to be honest, I can't think of one quality that makes me any
different from anyone else I see on a daily basis.
Yes, I have a good personality.
I am a genuinely nice person.
I can have fun, but also be serious.
I have my things that make me tick.
And so many different things that make me happy.
I love my dog like my own child.
I eventually want someone around that I can trust with my heart.
I want a house.
I want others to view me as someone they like to be around.
General things, that I am sure most people think of themselves.

So what makes me different?
I honestly haven't the slightest idea.
Except I have this crazy amount of passion sitting inside me,
waiting to have something and/or someone bring it out.
I have this idea of a dream job where I could read/write daily
to alleviate some of the restlessness that I feel from
bottling up so much creative and emotional passion.
I have this idea of a dream person as well that would share
this kind of passion for the world and the people that
he loves.
Surely these are not too demanding.

The saddest part of these two things is that I have to wait
for both of them.
Everyone says you can have whatever you want as long as
you set your mind to it.
I call bull shit on them.
I have wanted to write since I was in high school.
I did write. Only for myself. Much like right now.
I spent countless dollars and hours in college pursuing a
career my family didn't support, and one I still have yet to break into.
I am sure there is more that I could do to pursue it, but it's very
hard to be motivated after 7 years of college, and a terrible economy,
especially for recent graduates.

As for the second dream of mine...
As of a month ago, I had no idea what I wanted this person to look like,
and knew nothing of the qualities I wanted him to possess.
Finally one day, I sat down at my desk and made a list.
From what he looked like to his level of schooling.
From his quirks to if he would live in a house, apartment, etc.
I wrote down every part.
And I told myself I would no longer let myself date someone
who didn't have these qualities.
Sure there are some I am more lenient on, and others that
I stand very firmly beside.

After feeling quite crazed about this list, I decided
to ask the one person who gives flawless advice...
My mother.
She said it was a great idea and that she wished
she would have had a list when she was dating.
Not that my dad wasn't most of the things she wanted,
she just wished she had something to look at when she
was single, to help guide her.
I am pretty sure whomever it is that I end up will have
to be a lot like my mother, in how she handles me.
She knows what it is like to see me as a hypochondriac,
and she will come with me and still hold my hand when
they are taking blood. He will have to be like that.
She knows what it is like to see me as an unrealistic dreamer,
and she will tell to think things through when I am
getting too far with my searches. He will have to be like that.
She knows what it is like to see me as a heartless bitch,
and she will tell me when I am out of line, but in the most
loving way, knowing the whole time I don't really mean
the things I said. He will have to be like that.
And most importantly, she knows what it is like to see me
at my weakest, to see me lost and confused, to hold my head
in her lap and let me cry and cry, until my eyes are red and raw,
and tuck my hair behind my ear and tell me how beautiful I am
and how everything will be fine. He will have to be like that.

And even as I type, I realize more things to add to my list.
But as I said before, I have to be patient with both.
Do only what I can, and hope for the best.
And hope one day, my passion won't be wasted.

Love with passion...

C

In the morning hours

I often find myself waking up in the wee hours of the morning.
I start thinking of things. Things I know I can not
fix between 4 and 8a.m.
For some reason though, they wake me up and
make it hard to fall back to sleep.
It usually involves money, sometimes relationship problems.
Between men and friends.
All it is though, is me analyzing every bit of something
from the confines of my bed.
Nothing will obviously be done about it until later.
But for whatever reason, I find myself unable to shut my mind off.
It could be my crazy sleep schedule or as a friend said,
the time when alcohol leaves your body.

Whatever the reason, I sometimes have the biggest epiphanies
in the half-awake moments.
I find myself realizing the answer to some
question or how to solve a problem.
Other times though I give up the fight and
let myself think of something else.
I have never been good at sleeping the whole night through.
This is very rare for me, so much so that I have a
collection of books next to my bed.

Maybe I do have sleep apnea or something of that sort, but part of me
loves that time in the morning.
Sometimes I come up with really good stuff.
This morning I woke up about 9:30, after going to bed around 3:30 a.m.
I knew this would never be adequate sleep for me.
In the amount of time before I drifted back to sleep,
I tried to decipher what parts of last night were
real and which were a dream.
It's very difficult when the people from the night
before filter into your dreams.
So this morning I had to remind myself of the progression
of the night and the dreams I remembered.
This is the point in the whole day when I can feel raw emotions.
No one to see if I am happy or sad.

This is why I enjoy these times to myself.
I get to feel what I hide from people all day.
The root of who I am.
Sometimes I laugh to myself.
Sometimes I think of things I might regret.
And then there are days that I just appreciate what I have become
and love every part of my life.

Love to all...

C