...long, cold, lonely winter...

[kristaphone]

I was waiting until I had something thought-provoking to say about improv before I started a journal. Unfortunatly, my life is giving me too much to hold and I need to write about it before I collapse.
Many of you know I was downtown on 9/11. I've been dealing with the post traumatic stress ever since. Just whe I thought things couldn't get worse--they did. This past Thursday morning my apartment, located in a "safe" area on Astoria Blvd. was burgalarized. My roomate walked in on it and she was raped.
My roomate is doing great. She is not in denial, she is starting therapy, and when she is ready she plans on moving back to NYC because she is, "too young to let this man destroy my life".
We all went to a counsellor on Friday werein the counsellor ended the session more concerned about me than her. Perhaps it was my unwillingness to talk, perhaps it was my stead-fast gaze at the floor, or my silent weeping. Or maybe it was that the only words I managed to get out were, "I want him dead. I want him found, humiliated, and killed." I left that early that day--it could have been me--if it was I would not get over it--my life would be over. Knowing this is just as bad. I am paralysed. I am watching my hands type this and I swear they are not mine. I am completely detatched.
I am now that sitcom/movie character that is continuously sleeping on other people's couches.
I went with the parents to sort out the stuff for the moving-out. We took turns slashing the bed and ripping apart the bed-frame. I didn't slash so much as stab and twist--I think that's the "gangsta method".
I figured writing is better than my new thing of flicking-off the ceiling, telling God I think he's a big asshole.
This journal will get better as I do. I am now one of those people who goes to a therapist--not that there's anything wrong with that.

 

[kristaphone]

...make up my bed...try it for sleepin', instead

I called the therapist yesterday to set up an appointment and the bitch didn't call me back. Good ole Polly--we're already starting off on a good foot.
I'm starting to wonder how sex is going to be different for me--if at all. I have always prided myself on a very healthy libido. I'm afraid that next time I see my boyfriend I'm going to freak out and not be able to touch him.
This is making me more pissed than anyting. I love sex. I waited twenty years to get any and I don't want the pleasure and release it gives me to be taken away. It is my right to fuck when I want and how I want to do it. I am trying not to let this destroy my life. I deserve to be happy, right?

I have always been a humanist. I believe that people--for the most part--are good. I believe that human nature is an o.k. thing. The human impulse to love someone or hate someone--although I prefer love--is something that should not be denied. I don't think having sex before marriage is going to put me in hell. I don't think that if I want to "take care of myself" I'm going to get hairy palms. In fact, sex has done nothing but make my life better. I became more confident in myself. I started to think that I was attractive. I feel healthier after I have it. Now, there is this whole darker side to it. I always knew it existed--but not in my life. And here it is--using sex as a weapon, as a degrading act, as a soul-destroyer. The only thing that I use as a weapon is my wit. How dare this man do this? I want to take a potato peeler and deprive him of this crown-piece. I want him humiliated infront of the person that means the most to him--his mom, his dad, whoever. I want that person to say to him, I am ashamed to know you--you are dead to me. I want to him to cry and wish he was dead. And when he gets to that point where death is the only peace he can find--I want him to live forever.

I need help. Polly better call me back.

 

[kristaphone]

mega-bitch, inc.

I almost got beat-up this morning. Needing the peace that only walking gives me, I have been walking 29 blocks and 6 aves to work every morning since Tuesday. Well, today a man in his BMW stopped at the red light on the pedestrian crosswalk. No biggie--I'll just walk behind the car. Then he back into my legs. I went around the front and called him an asshole. Justified--I believe. Well, this guy was huge and apparently 'asshole' holds some emotional baggage. He was about to open his car door and I just started walking.
I guess you could say I have some displaced aggression. I hate just about everyone right now. Fuck you fuck you fuck you.
I'm thinking that God is a bitch, right now. I think he's a sadist. Where is He? Why didn't he make that guy trip and knock himself out in our apartment? Why didn't he cause my roomate's train to have technical difficulties so she would get home later? If God loves us so much and is omnipotent and omnipresent, what the fuck was He doing last Thursday between the hours of twelve and three? I think that he is lazy. I think that he looks at us as a lost cause. And why are we here anyways?
I do believe that we are made of energy--of spirit. I believe that I will live beyond my body. But why did I chose to come here? Some say that in a spiritual state we are all knowing--yet we come to earth to learn. What? That doesn't make any sense. I see no lesson learned by what happened. It has only made me more paranoid--wow, that's enlightenment.
Glad I came for that lesson.

I went to Delaney & Dave's show last night and it helped--although temporarily. It was great to see my friends again. I needed to be hugged. I needed for friends to rest their hand on my back. I am someone who is comforted by touch--not sexual--just a pat here, a hug there. I needed it so much. And what great guys to get hugs from.
My boyfriend is aggrivated that he can't be the one to comfort me--me lives far away. And although I'm scared he will get the wrong idea everytime I go out with all my improv-friends--all of which are men--I need this.
By the way, my friends are the men in The office and everyone should go to their shows: Friday at Gotham City Improv at 9 and saturday at the Flipside.
Even moments of depression and spiritual anger are perfect times for plugs.

 

[kristaphone]

Happy Fon

O.K.
I have decided to make a decision: either I will let this journal die or I will fill it with happier things. I have not decided yet. See, I'm normally not so dark. I'm normally not so open, either. I'd rather stay that enigma that has drove men crazy for ages. Am I joking? I don't know.

Actually, do you want to hear something really funny? I had a dream about James Eason the other night. Wednesday I drank a lot of tea before I went to bed--not bright. So, I dreamt about having to pee. However, someone was in my bathroom and was taking an obscene amount of time. Finally, the door opens and who should it be--James Eason. Oh James, how your visage never leaves my mind.
I've had a couple crazy dreams with ucb-ers, actually. Mr. Charlie Todd has been in my dreams a lot--the context of which is too bizarre to talk about with any of you. Demblowski as a janitor.
Delaney has showed up as a militant party-planner--no shit.
The list can go on and on. But again, how can I remain the enigmatic seductress that caused the Trojan War--no, wait. O.K. now I know I'm joking because that woman's name was Helen and my name is Phone.:love:

 

[kristaphone]

My Endless Love

What is it about NY that will not let me leave? I've asked myself that question repeatedly for the past # of months. When I first entertained the thought of living in NY, I thought I was doing it because it was a cliche for every dancer to live in NY. yet, here I am. Thanks to good ole Jerry Bin Laden I now have asthma and thanks to some pervert I now have an anger to all male strangers that I find hard to surpress. But here's the screwy part of it, dance is not the thing that keeps me here. With the exception of two choreographers that I'm now working with, I find the choreography in NY to be self-indulgent and flat-out crap. I've found a love for improv and the community. I know I don't want to leave that. But even beyond improv, there's something about NYC that has my heart. Even as I struggle to keep faith in God, humanity, and purpose, I can't help but feel that I can't leave NY because I am meant to be here. I don't know what for. I feel like if I leave I will always be yearning for that something. And I know that whatever has pulled me to keep trying my best and pushing myself throughout my short life is closer with every passing day. One day I may leave NY, but right now, amidst my 24 hour temper tantrums and constant worry, I can't leave. I love it here.
I am arguing in my head about whether or not God exists. I cannot deny that deep down I still believe there is a great love out there and we are a part of it. But I feel like God has forgotten about us. Maybe not forgot--maybe just indifferent to us. I am floating between the two beliefs i carry: 1. That no one will take care of me but myself and 2. There is an angel behind me. I wear my cross inside my shirt and my occult evil-eye on the outside.

 

[kristaphone]

Like Ireland

I went to my first therapy session. I lovingly will call him Shrink. Shrink likes green. His shirt was green. His office was green. His chairs were green. Green. I guess he buys into that color-therapy shit. I like orange--the supposed color of insanity. On that note, the good news is I am not going crazy. Unfortunately, these feelings of defenselessness and anger may be here a while. Fuck dat. According to Shrink I am looking to feel protected. Hmmmmmmmmm. Whatever. I'm going next week in order to fulfill my promise to my dad. Also, I kind of feel better after talking to him. Whatever.
One of the video directors I work with got my roomates name tattooed on him. I was touched. I am continually in awe of people and the love they are capable of.
My dreams are fucked up again. They were normal for a while. I dreamt I had to go back to the crime scene. That cut away to me searching through a haunted house. I became trapped in a dark room. I couldn't scream. Eventually, the only word I could get out was my roomate's name. I screamed it over and over again. Finally, my two roomates ran in. However, as soon as they put their hands on me I knew something was wrong. They started pushing me down. My one roomate opened her mouth to reveal a huge beak. She encased my neck with it and bit. She killed me.
In between these dreams is always the appreciated sex dream. How come sex dreams always end right at the good part. Damn it.
I am still waiting to have a solid nights sleep.

 

[kristaphone]

sweat

My walk to work was sweatier than days past. Not so much sweat as glow. The biggest challenge I have facing me right now is the question, what if. I ask this question constantly resulting in me being crowned 8th grade Class Worry-Wart. No shit. I long for the anxiety of the eigth grade--wondering if I'll ever have a boyfriend & if my scrunchy matches. Now my worry is truly a horse of a different color. What if I didn't leave early that day? What if I walked in on my roomate being attacked? A part of me says I would have grabbed a knife and saved her. Then I again ask what if--what if my stab was superficial and he used his gun on us? What if?
Kyle, that's the boyfriend, is trying to get a job out here now more than ever. I don't know how I feel about this. What if he is the victim of a terrorist attack? Could I live with myself knowing that because of me he became a victim? What if things don't work out between us? What if the ensuing thought of marriage--one I always thought I was ready for--starts to scare the shit out of me?
That's another phobia--divorce. My parents just got divorced this past summer. It was particularly hard on me. I'm the only child and I feel like I have no home to go back to. My holidays are divided and I have to be careful what I say all the time. So how do I combat the fear that one day I may be in my own divorce--I moisturize. I know it sounds ridiculous, but bear with me. I figure I'll be making my own income. I will have my own career. I will keep up with current events making for great conversation. My libido is already huge so by the time I reach my sexual peak I will be a sex guru. All these things will make it impossible for my husband to want to do away with me. I can controll all of the above--but I can't control gravity.
Gravity kills, as they say.
I moisturize every part of my body everyday in the hopes that I am really hot when I'm 55. I don't really care what I look like now--it's 55 that matters to me. I will fight the effects of gravity on the body with the neurotic behavior I have aquired.
This ritual is ridiculous and shallow--yeah, yeah, whatever.
I am just so scared of losing the people I love--whether it be to death or to some skank. I do not want to live by my fears. I never thought I would. Yet here I am, exposing my odd daily moisturizing ritual with all of you. I am a joke of my former self.

 

[kristaphone]

Nice Ass

Cat Calls will forever be a mystery to me. When I first started getting harassed on the street I was fifteen years old at a summer ballet camp. I was thrown in at the emotional-scar level immediately. That summer I was chased by a van of two 40-something men who apparently thought my ass was "beautiful". Also that summer, myself and my roomates couldn't avoid a group of older men at a carnival that just wanted to know, "You ever been fucked before?" This ballet camp was in a heavily red-neck population.
From there the comments never stopped. Even when walking with male friends I get insulted by strangers that, "...wanna eat your ass or out."
Why am I putting these harsh phrases in quotes--because they are quotes. These statements have been remembered verbatum because they have never been forgotten. They hurt.
When I was fifteen they made me feel guilty. I would cry thinking that I had caused them because that day I was wearing shorts. Now, they make me so angry that I have thought of pulling out my mace and spraying away.
I bite my lip and sqeeze my fist and imagine a world where I have super-human powers and there are no laws.
Someone once said that the cat call was a way for a man of lower social status to bring a woman down to his level. I can see some truth in that. But then again, rich boys can act just as bad as any punk on the street.
Ladies, how many times did a frat boy rudely proposition you? I went to maybe five frat parties in my whole college career--I hated them before I even started going. But I went because I wanted to experience it. I was a wallflower at these parties--but a wallflower that really looked like she wanted to give a stranger head, apparently. Every proposition was answered with my 'Fucking asshole'. That is when I was called 'Bitch!'
I wonder how many of these men on the street and at these parties had sisters? How would they feel if their sister was insulted?

 

[kristaphone]

Insomnia

I woke up at three AM. I didn't fall back asleep until around 6:30, only to have to wake up at 8.
Here are some things I learned this morning: Dave Meyers directs too many music videos & they all look the same. Creed's videos are over-dramatic. Even at 4 AM MTV will play the same shitty videos it does during TRL. They never play Ryan Adams' "Answering Bell".

Ryan--not Canadian Bryan Adams--if you're reading this, come and find me. Grab me, slam me up against a wall and kiss me passionately, speak to me with that drawl of yours how all of your songs were written about me. After about 15 years of pure sexy funnzies you can fill me with babies and they will all have your blue eyes.
Oh, you have a girlfriend? Oh, I was joking.

I have never been a good sleeper. Since college I had a habit of falling asleep at 10 PM, waking up at 11 PM and then cleaning the house until 2 AM. It was a self-induced insomnia. If I really wanted to I could have gone to bed at a reasonable hour. I chose not to. I love the night. Now, since the crime, I actually have insomnia. I wake up every hour on the hour. I never feel like I really sleep. I do have amazing dreams, though. Last night was a bit of a disappointment. I was dressed like a Catholic school girl. I was trying to seduce someone. I don't know who. Then I get him and he grabs me and kisses me and it's horrible. He was kissing me without really using his lips. He was like an old, toothless man gumming his food. Ouch.

In the past I've woken up with my pillows thrown across the room, my bed sheets tied in knots, different pajamas on then when I went to bed. Have you ever woken up naked?
No?
Oh.
Neither have I.
According to the boyfriend I kick, smack, laugh, and meow in my sleep, too. I am a load of funnzies when I'm in R.E.M. mode.
I was keeping a dream journal for a while. I am proud to say I am a lucid dreamer. I actually look forward to sleep when I can get it solely for the dreams I might have.

 

[kristaphone]

seek

I am trying to be a good friend the only way I know how. I call or e-mail my roomate everyday. I talk to her like we would normally talk. It's not denial-conversation. It's just conversation. The truth is that I still don't know what to say to her. I have never been good at verbally comforting someone.

When I'm sad it most likely means that I'm angry, too. That anger makes it impossible for me to accept any comfort in any form. It makes me physically ill for someone to try and hug me or say someone as hollow as, "It'll be alright".
Bullshit.
I only want comfort when I seek it. This could stem from a number of different things. I am a proud person. I don't like asking for help. I guess I feel this way because in my sick little fucked up head I equate accepting help as oweing something to someone. I don't like to owe anyone anything.
I know this mentality is wrong. But I know I don't like feeling need. I hate it when I realize I need something or someone because that means if that thing ever goes away my heart will break. If I am self-sufficient there is less a chance for me to miss anything. All you former psych-majors can analyze that all you want. It's how I feel. There, now you can feel your degree was actually worth something--haha.

I am still questioning God. How could something that is supposed to be all-loving, omniscent, omnipresent not help her? Why didn't you help her? Are you a voyeur? Did it pleasure you to watch? Are you a pervert? Are you a masagonist? (Did I spell that correctly?) I don't care to know the meaning of life. i don't care how I got here. I just want to know why you didn't help her.

 

[kristaphone]

And a tan line

I saw Shrink this morning. Shrink starts with the letter "S" and so does "summer"!!!!!!!!!!!

Here are some things I am looking forward to this summer:

*Listening to the new Wilco CD I just bought this morning.
*Going to park concerts, preferably with friends.
*Getting a tan line and people thinking I'm joking about having one. Then I show them that there is in fact a distinct line between pale and really pale.
*Fireworks
*Doing pranks
*Falling asleep in Central Park, preferably with friends.
*Cutting my hair short?
*Premiere of Frick & Frack!
*Trying on a bunch of bathing suits and never buying one.
*Sweating like Neil Diamond in my dance classes--he sweats a lot.
*Frisbone in Central Park
*Buying cheap watches on Canal St.
*Rushing to lick a melting cone before it gets all over my hands.

:love:

 

[kristaphone]

Lips together, teeth apart

I am continually amazed in people. It is true, wthout a doubt, that in times of pain people can be healers, guides, and sources of counsel.
My faith is slowly being restored in a higher power, not by any fantastic miracle, but by realizing that the very people that constitute my life--friends, teachers--are all angels.
Some say the right thing--sometimes there isn't a "why?"
Some hug really, really good.
Some can relate to you with turmoils in their own lives, reminding you that you are not alone. They erradicate the pain-lover inside that wants to believe that God has a personal vendetta against her.
Some will remind you that you shouldn't apologize for expressing your feelings. Feelings are never wrong.

I am crushing on the world right now.

:love:

 

[kristaphone]

Because Frick said I could...

I am a carpenter.
I, with infinite ease,
Make every room a bedroom.
I undo each button one by one,
My wrists slightly grazing my breasts,
Anticipating what you said.
My skirt falls
And I step out of it with faun legs,
Weak with the idea that you will again not show.
I sit on my bed and with just the closing of my eyes
My hands have become yours.
Dragging your nails up my thighs,
Grasping my breasts,
My back begins to arch and I swear
For one moment I can smell you.
I open my eyes.
My woodwork is destroyed.
The linens are gone.
I am back at my desk.
I can feel my clothes binding me.
You have again left me aching and my mind racing.
You are the most unsettling carpenter--
You only build waiting rooms.

 

[kristaphone]

Shucks

I have decided to chose love over fear.

I have decided that as soon as I can I am going to start running towards whatever it is that is keeping me going and I am not going to stop.

I have decided to hug as both a hello and goodbye to those I love.

I have decided to seriously consider belts because I never plan on anyone seeing my underwear--let alone everyone.

I have decided not to take my aggressions out on my parents.

I have decided to stop saying 'sorry' when I am the only one who laughs, or if my opinion is different.

I have decided that my crush on the world is only going to get bigger.:blush:

 

[kristaphone]

Belle of the Ball

I think I'm finally starting to be O.K. with myself. I'm starting to use the confidence I have when I'm onstage dancing and putting into my everyday life.
I think I am. I'd love to say that from here on in I will have no regrets about the things I say and do--but, that is a higher conscience i don't think I've achieved, yet. I still blushed last night when someone used a line from the poem I posted to make fun of me.

I have a knack to make people uncomfortable. I never do this intentionally. I just start talking about sex or anger-controll problems or religion and I think nothing of it. Then I notice that the faces of those around me have morphed into this half intruiged, half disgusted cement mask. I honestly think I scare the shit out of some people.
Oh well.

I am like the one princess who shows up to the ball in a slit floor length skirt, only to realize all the other princesses are wearing gowns. True, most will not like what I've done, but there is bound to be one person at the ball who still thinks I'm super cute.
:blush:

 

[kristaphone]

Idea Splat

My Cousin's broker had been in contact with some one bedrooms in the East Village for $900. With a little help from Daddy-O, I could pull it off. I started to smile bigger than I had in a month. I got this idea of having my own apartment: I would finally frame my jazz posters and hang them straight, I could take as much time flossing as I like, I might learn how to cook in case friends stop by, I could be that cool person that lets her drunk friends ring her at two in the morning so they could crash on her Queen size Sealy Posture-pedic pull out couch--it longs to be used.
My Mom was cool with it--Joann is calming down--but I was shocked to find my Dad was hesitant. I cannot deny the validity of his one problem. The fact is I have never slept well when alone in a house or apartment. I don't need someone in the same bed as me, I just need someone in the same living space.
When I'm alone in a house my senses go into overdrive. I hear absolutely everything. And everything sounds like a ghost or pervert--or a pervert ghost.
It's true. My Dad is, again, right. The only way I'd sleep is if I kept the lights and the TV on all night.
I suck.
My yelp over the rooftops is nothing but a cowardly mumble. I still can't be that accomidating friend I always wanted to be. I still have to floss really fast. Son of Bitch. Shit.

 

[kristaphone]

If I was your girlfriend

I always call the Boyfriend when I am out just to check in. It's never caused tension before because before UCB I didn't have friends and never went out. Now I have friends and now more than ever I crave being around them--recent events have pushed me in this fashion.

So, last night after Cage Match I call him before running over to McManus and my wonderful Boyfriend is short, crisp, and pissed on the phone. He knows that 99% of my friends are men. I'm sure he only assumes then to be witty, hot pieces of meat--which they are, but regardless. haha. I can't help but feel guilty after something like this.

This guilt goes against everything I believe in. I believe in independence and in choice. I choose to go out and I shouldn't feel guilty about it just because he can't see the harmlessness of it.

I'm sure he's also nervous because I have a flirty personality--well, I should say that I exude what many consider flirting and I consider being personable and attentive. My version of flirting is none of y'alls business.

I have never cheated on him. I don't plan on it, either. I know he knows this. A part of me is seeing the hilarity that now, more so than ever, he may be moving to NY. Simultaneously, he seems to be more and more apprehensive about what I do out here. Oh how I'd laugh if he moved out here and we broke up--after two years of long-distance success. i would laugh and laugh and cry and cry and cry and cry. haha. I feel sick.

 

[kristaphone]

Let me blow your mind

According to my Friday horoscope I was going to be looking stunning that evening. Well, guess what I did Friday night? I fell asleep at eight o'clock. Sorry, Boys. Friday my cousin and her boyfriend stayed in. I was overwhelmed by the feeling of safety and it resulted in a twelve hour slumber. I was supposed to tell Charlie bon voyage--so, have a safe flight, Charlie--even though you already had it. I was also supposed to buy my friends drinks--boy, are you guys wasted.

There, it's like I didn't miss a day.

My friends from home were in town. They told me some interesting news. Two boys that were crushing on me all through high school have recently come out of the closet. This is not that first time a boy tried to win me over and then turned out to be gay. I would say this is an odd trend. Should I be concerned that about 15% of the boys that fancied me are now out and loving it? gad zooks. It's weird. One day they are trying to ask me out--me, acting blissfully ignorant of their affections in hopes of not hurting them by having to say, no. A year later they are telling me how I should apply my lipstick in order to make my lips look more suckable--it's a true story.
This whole scenario is making me giggle.

 

[kristaphone]

Yikes

Delaney gave me a note last night that made me get a bad tickle in my stomache--I want you to start playing yourself on stage more.

NOOOOOOO!!!!!

Last week I had mentioned to him that I never feel confident being myself on stage. Now, I am paying for it. He's right. I mean, George Balanchine once said that he often didn't give dancers characters because they--just by being themselves on stage--were interesting enough.

It's not that I don't think I'm interesting. It's just that for every interesting outlook I have on life, I have twently awkward ways of saying it. None of which are cool. I am not cool. I am a dork. If I am a character, no matter how dorky that character is, that character has the luxury of going to sleep in a far distant town. That charcter is much more confident and that character is ignorant to the fact that their philosophies are questionable.

In other news, it was my roomates birthday yesterday. She is now off her meds. She is feeling a lot better.
The detectives are kind of giving up. They won't return her phone calls, anymore. A month ago I would have pledged my love to any of those boys in blue. Now, I want to kick the shit out of them.

In more personal news, I am feeling more like my seventeen year old self than ever before--floating, horny, and desperate for any one thing to cheer me up. When I was seventeen I hadn't kissed a boy outside the dictation of a spinning bottle. That was all I could think about. When I finally did, and with a tongue (OH, My God!), I was horribly disappointed. The fact was he was a horrible kisser. After about an hour on his parents couch he finally started to kiss me the way my mouth was telling him to.
So, again i am at my seventeen year old state. Except, I don't know what exactly is I'm anticipating. Because everything in my life is up in the air--housing, career, etc.--I am beginning to wonder what will finally ease my mind? What will finally make me say, there are you satisfied now?

 

[kristaphone]

Let me break your heart

I saw Shrink this morning. I talked more about myself today. He quoted a book and I want to share it with anyone who reads this:

To live is to be shipwrecked. To be shipwrecked is not to drown.

Interpret it as you need to.

My life may be very unstable but it is productive. I am travelling through what Jung called neumystic experiences. Sometimes you do things that don't normally fit your style. Regardless if you keep with that new thing or not, you better yourself. Basically, some people follow their hunches, only to better themselves and their lives. I have been following my hunches since I graduated college in 2000. This is a big deal for someone as neurotic and plan-oriented as myself.

I went into college not knowing exactly what i wanted to do afterwards. I just knew that I should stick with dance because that is what I do. I figured after four years I would have more of an idea. At the end of four years I only had a hunch that I should move to NYC. Done. After 9/11 I had a hunch to start taking classes at UCB. Done. After 5/18 I had a hunch to keep on pushing. I am doing it. I have no idea what I am keeping my head up for, but my instinct is to swim, not sink; to fight, not flee.

I am pleasantly surprised at how my life is nowhere near the safe one I had envisioned. Granted some of the surprises are horrible. But for the most part, I am grateful for what has been put on my plate.

Yes Ross, I am crushing on the world. It's one of those crushes that blossoms into something beyond heartache or sloppy kisses. I think I'm falling in love with it.
Now, if only I could guarantee it will love me back. Even if life treats me bad I will remember what my professor Cynthia Pratt told me, "In every relationship there is always one who loves the other more. It goes back and forth. But, that one who loves more is the one who is touched by God."

O.K. I paraphrased my professor.