Sway, Sparrow, Sway:

   I'm going to become a subversive graffiti artist.  Well, no not really.  But I plan on leaving my mark somewhere on this earth.  Even if all I do is deface the bottom of the shelf at work with a moving or thought-provoking quote.   Why am I even talking about this?  Who cares.
  Sometimes I think I write all of this stuff, all of my emotions, and dreams and ramblings, and in the end, no one cares.  It gets forgotten anyway. So while I'm sitting here, I'd like to say one thing.  That must stick to someone.  I hope.
  On a long enough timeline, the survival rate of anyone drops to zero.  We all die.  But it is up to us to make pivotal changes for this earth.  My point is, where do you get your inspiration?  And if you're reading this, I want a response.  Because I'm half tempted to forget blogging.  I'm almost certain no one cares about what I have to say, and I have a hard time finding inspiration.  Don't say it's everywhere.  Because that's bullshit.  If it were, I'd write every day, and it would move people to their very inner cores.  This, factually, is not the case.
  So really, where do you get your inspiration to keep going when it feels pointless? What makes you feel like you are making a difference in this world?  What makes you feel larger than life, and not a small insignificant human lost in the mass scale of billions of other un-unique snowflakes?

When I Grow Up:

Possible things to be when I grow up, in this order:

Blogger:  For many years now, I've wanted to blog about my life, and get paid for it.  I'd talk about my adventures with pets, boys, marriage maybe....  Eventually it would be a mommy blog and I could brag about my babies, but those dreams take time.

Bar Owner:  Not like a stupid night club where people get stabbed, shot, raped or killed.  A BAR! a down-home place where there are regulars and a small dining menu.  A place I'd build from the ground up.

Television Anchor:  Since I was little I wanted Diane Sawyer's job.  Report the most up-to-the-minute news on big stories.  I want to interview plane crash survivors, tsunami survivors, ferrel children, presidents, and actors.  I want to report more than the weather.

Sports Center Anchor:  I can spout, daily, the news according to sports.  Who won, lost, got injured, traded or fired.  Plus I'd make it look good...

Ready.Set.Go:

  Okay, Life. Let's Get Real.

...come on now young lady, get it together...

   I'm 22.  It's been over six months since I graduated. I've been lazy.   This coming week, I'll be blogging like a mad woman.  Job hunting like it's my job, and all the while, smiling because the zombies haven't attacked. 

   Okay, there is no such thing as zombies, but still. It's a good life I live.  I need to be diligent.  There really is no point to this post, except that, after being oogled by so many drunk assholes and random Ford truck owners, and having zero dollars in my bank account, AND still living in my parents basement...I need to get my life going.  It's all happening. It's all there, I just need to get the pieces in the right order. A puzzle.  I'm ready for change.  I think that's what has taken me so long to find motivation.  I wasn't ready.  But I sure am now, I'll tell you what.  Going to New York, and seeing life from a different perspective, really lit a fire under my big butt. 

   I'm going to do this.  I'm going to get what I want out of life because I set forth the effort and ambition.  Plus I'm cute and crying gets me almost anything because I can be totally pathetic.....BUT that won't always work. I have to vary my tactics and stay on top of my searching for a job and home and furniture and man of my own.  I'm hard to please.  I'm in no way imaginable high maintenance, but I am particular about what I like and do not like.   I'm hard working and soft-hearted.  I'm me.  That's got to be something right? 

Forever Since:

  I am terribly sorry it has been nearly what, two weeks since I last blogged?  I haven't found inspiration.  I'm working on many things.  One being myself, as always.  Other projects include finding a job in my field of study, maintaining a positive attitude, even when at 10:15 this evening at the gas station, some man leaned out of his lifted Ford truck to say to me, "Yikes." As I walked by.  I'm sorry Sir, did my face offend you or was it my cute body that made your tiny dick spring up out of hibernation?  I'm sorry dear reader.  But it brings a whole new meaning for the phrase, "Little prick..." Is "Yikes" even a compliment or should I be worried about saving money for Botox?!?

  That's another thing.  My boss said I looked older.  What does THAT even mean?  Like my body looks sad and used up? I need a nose job? WHAT?!?

   I don't even care. This week has been work, nanny, work, nanny, eat, sleep, work, nanny.....It's go go go. Making it rain pennies from heaven.   That's the goal.

But here are some more photos for you to enjoy.  Of my week, my nephew Charlie, and Sir Topham Hatt.

...Charlie...

...larger than life...
..."Seriously, it's trucks or choo choos, Miss Sarah"...

Airplanes and Shooting Stars:

 A wish right now, I could really use a wish right now. I tell people things, but it's always on repeat. They have there lives to remember, not mine. But I'm still in this. New to me. Fresh, bright and shiny. A star made of metal 45,000 feet up. Not a cesspool of faded dreams and lost laughter. Memories yellowed like photographs.
  I need to look towards tomorrow, that's where life is. Everything in life, including life itself, is temporary. But if I don't get out, I'll die here. There are no free handouts. It's windy, I'm windblown and self-conscious.  Doubt fills me more than coffee.  Can we pretend? Airplanes are shooting stars, eyelashes and everything possible? New York is wrapped around my thoughts. Like a ribbon. Why did I even get up today?
   The fury rises, it's in my head, heart, lungs. Like cancer it spreads.  I can't give up, but it's hard to climb when my hands are bleeding from holding on so tight. Good things SHOULD happen to good people. I am the genuine article. Smart, sweet and giving.  I am kind and a decent human. I know this.  I could be better, but I am me and me is a very big heart.
   I cry and the tears stain my cheeks with mascara.  I get mad for crying. I hate showing it. I bottle everything, like vintage wine.  Older, more flavorful. I bury things so deep.  I'm in the clay.  Water table tight. Locked away the key.
  I need numbers. I need percentages.  What are my chances of getting this job? 62%?
  I'm not a religious person by any measure, but I know a higher power is looking out for me. Why else would my eyelashes be so long? Big wishes for a little girl.  I'm day dreaming again. It's all happening, it's all happening. I'm going to make it.  It will happen. Just like breathing. No more heavy boots.  Light like sparrows. Birds on a wire.  Summer's coming, so is my 23rd. Paychecks and bank deposits. Save save save pennies from heaven, baby.
  I could really use this wish right now.
  Airplanes like shooting stars.
  No more heavy boots.
  It's all happening.

...I'm doing okay...

Back in Hell:

Originally written on the plane, May 3 2010.

  The life I've been dreaming of may be starting.  All these thoughts are racing through my head. Jumping to what I'd pack, and what I'd leave behind. I'm sitting on this airplane, smiling like an idiot. Not much to my name. New York is amazing, my cousins are amazing.  Remember: send them a huge thank you. Remember to call work. Remember how you feel right now.  I could very well be driving back this way in two and a half weeks if god is on my side. My head is literally in the clouds. 45,000 feet up. My head's on straight. No, I don't have much money. Yes, I have debt. Money comes and goes. And this may be my one chance to get out and live. Not just go through the motions. Zombiella. Dreams are made on perseverance and timing. I can't help but think, this is it for me. New York. Let's hear it for New York. For luck, life, love, and all things in between. I can't get the Chinatown grease off my skin, or the house on Grove Street from my mind's eye. The giggles from babies out of my ears. I'm not giving it up. My life. I'm 22. I'm ready for this. Saratoga Springs, summers, winters, and falls. It's for me. Call it magic, call it fate, or destiny or simply timing. It's all true. It's all right, alright? I can do this.  Paul and Abra are saying it's okay. Even if, at first I can't pay rent. I can clean, clean. I can teach the girls to swim. Save pennies from Heaven. I found god in the city.  Waiting to show me the light. If this plane goes down, I've made my peace, but I know it won't. I've got to get back to New York. God's work, I think. Call me crazy, call me idealistic. I'll answer to the latter. But I know in my heart of hearts. This is where I belong. My name is Sarah Christine McIver. And I Heart New York.

Flying over corn fields and wheat. Sleeping to pass the time. Only sleep leads to restlessness. My mind is busy. What time is it? I'm getting closer to the familiar, and farther from what feels like home. If you knew...Only if. Just agree. I'm questioning time zones. I promise you I never knew I could.  So many questions, although we all agree. New York is calling.