To sleep, or to be glamourous? That is the question.

I love the retro/ vintage look. It's just so "me", if I do say so myself. If I was talented enough to sew my own clothing, I would create the most fantastical wardrobe full of color, pretty little dresses, and then my share of flawy hippie attire. Honestly, I dig all of that way more than what the fashion industry of today has been pumping out. If I had the money for such things, my whole closet would be a blast from the past. I would be okay with wearing a dress every single day if need be. I long to be that girl on the outside, because on the inside that is exactly how I feel- not dusty and old (though I do get that feeling often), but rather hip, youthful, and classy! I wish that fashion today was like it used to be in the 40's and 50's. I love the sophistication and the sense of respect women had for themselves when they would drag their ass out of bed and see to it that they looked nice and presentable. Nowadays, we have people showing their faces in public wearing pajamas and displaying dreadful unbrushed hair. Pajamas? In public? My Nanny would have slaughtered me for such a thing. What happened to the days when women actually spent time to fix their hair? I seriously wish that I had that kind of dedication to wake up so early just to have scrumptious hair. Oh, how I am pining for that look of respect and sophistication! Unfortunately, the college life has me rather lazy and unwilling to look so nice and planned out. So, what do I do? Do I continue to succumb to topknots and my love for sleep? Or do I bite the bullet and put in that extra effort to look gorgeous every day? I wish that I had the will power for the latter, I really do. Dressing up and looking nice is something that I love to do- I always have. But the need for sleep and this modern life that I live in seem to overwhelm me. Perhaps I need a spiritual awakening to tell me to snap out of the ordinary and listen to my heart. My old, vintage heart. I really would rather not look lazy, I want to look like I like myself enough that I care about what I look like.

My heart is torn-

Glorious sleep, or self-appreciating glamour?

How she slithered into my heart.

I absolutely love animals; I love watching them and holding them and learning about them. If I could have a hundred different animals I probably would. For the past year or so I've been on a somewhat painful journey to find the right animal for me. Quite frankly, I think that any animal would make me content; unfortunately, I've not always picked the right animals at the right time. Ever since I was born my family has had dogs and cats, which are both splendid, but I like to broaden my horizons. First, I adopted a beautiful white bunny. And I loved it. Well... until I had no time/ room for it. I don't want to say that he was neglected but, poor thing, I kind of kept him caged up most of the time. Do you know how hard it is to bunny-proof a house, or even just a room? Near impossible if you are not prepared and have very limited space. Besides, I had a Boston terrier and German shepherd running around the house. Plus bunny experienced many pillows flung at his cage in my self- conscious stupor. I loved bunny, but he was kind of stupid. After a lot of long, hard decision making mind sessions, I decided to give bunny away to a nicer home. Since this incident of me being a less then stellar pet owner, "Alexis+Pets" has pretty much been a running joke in the eyes of my family. They place bets on how long the poor creatures will last, which quite frankly I do not appreciate. I got a fish- fish are easy, right? Well, it died. Out of nowhere. Zak and I adopted a dog, and thankfully he is still alive and well (HA to you, everyone). I decided that I absolutely needed to have some baby geckos. They were great and so cute- until they died. What the heck, I gave them food and fresh water every day. These things just happen to me. So, in a post- partum depression, I decided that I needed another critter to fill that empty hole in my heart. I went out, looked, then fell in love-- with a three and a half foot long snake. Finally, the pet of my dreams! I'm thinking that maybe a snake is what I need. Doesn't make noise, doesn't have limbs, eats maybe twice a month, and is cold blooded, just like me (wait, what?). I'm excited for this journey, hopefully it will last more than a few months. She's a beauty, and I am trying to figure out a name for her. Maybe Fluffy. 

My name is Alexis Adkins, and I love my snake.

Some things that have been brought to my attention today;

If you build up enough pressure inside of a vessel, the laws of physics suggests that the pressure will eventually become too much and the vessel is likely to explode, causing damage to the vessel or anything in close proximity. 

If you look at someone and think to yourself, “Hey, they seem pretty normal”, there’s a great chance that they are probably not, but actually just master hiders. You would probably never guess that the smile you are admiring for its genuine gleam is actually an automated reflex of practiced generosity. They say that it takes more muscles to frown than to smile, but that doesn’t mean that smiling is always easier.  

If you blame all of your problems on others, you have a perception problem. If  you take the blame for everything that happens on your life, you have a guilt problem. It must be understood there are things that will or have happened that you simply can not control, and you must not blame yourself completely for the cause, effect, and the way these things make you feel. People are simply faced with different situations, and if you take the blame for all of the hurt and sadnesses of yourself or others, you are not going to be a happy being. On the other hand, you must accept responsibility that there are many things that are or have been in your control. You can not always blame everyone and every thing but yourself on the circumstances of your life. It is much easier to blame the world for your strife than to make an effort to fix and forgive, but quite frankly, no one likes a whiner. If you are going to complain about your life and all of the wrongdoings that the world has placed upon you without doing anything to solve the problem, do us all a favor and keep the pity party to a party of one.

If you try to stay positive about your life by telling yourself that there are people out there who have more serious problems and that you should be thankful for what you have, you have a good heart. Though this is a very generous way to think, it can also put yourself in a small boat on a  raging sea of hurt and confusion. Just because your problem might not seemingly be as detrimental as someone else's, that in no way means that it should not be considered important, and that it is not seriously hurting you. When you live in a dysfunctional family and suppress the fact by telling yourself that it could be worse, that doesn't mean that you are not living in a dysfunctional family. It is okay to admit and address problems, because by not doing so you could seriously be hurting yourself in the long term. 

If you are sensitive or very emotionally involved, don't feel bad. You are not alone, and it's probably not your fault. Some people are simply born that way, just like how some people are born athletically inclined or with freckles. It is just who you are, and even though you may have been ridiculed and picked on time and time again for being a "baby", don't be ashamed of it. If seeing someone do a kind act for someone else who needs it makes you choke up a little, that's okay. If you are an adult and still want to cry when your pet geckos that you have had for merely a few months die, don't be ashamed. There are many people out there like us who would be willing to cry with you, for you, or because of you; so never fee like you are alone.

There are many things that I have been through in my life that I wish had never happened. There are many things about myself that I do not like. I am very passive aggressive, and I find that I cry more than I like to admit. I run away from things and my feelings get hurt far too easily. This being said, there are also many things that I do like about myself. I like my eyes and my feet. I like that I am fairly talented. I also like the fact that right now, I can realize and admit the things that I don't like about myself. I find that admirable, in a purely non- cocky kind of way. If anything, I want others to know that feeling hurt, or sadness, or being sensitive; it is all okay. There is always going to be someone out there who cares about you and what you are going through. 

Celebrate yourself for who you are, and if you ever need some glue to fix some broken pieces; remember that there's always some available. 

(this will remain untitled)

Sometimes I am afraid that there might be a deception in my reality. That I don't really understand right or wrong, or the effects of the things that I say or do. Indecisiveness can really hurt a person, and it is sad to say that it has really hurt me. All my life I've been afraid to stand up for myself because I've been afraid of being wrong or put in my place. I have let people walk all over me, never saying a word about it to their faces, keeping a friendly smile that is hard to see through. I have kept very sensitive things bottled inside my entire life, because I felt that it just wasn't worth bringing up. I could never win the battle, so why even try? My passive aggressiveness has put me in a terrible spot in my life a time or two. My ability to act like someone I really am not makes it hard to let people inside. The truth is, I don't even know if that last statement is true; that I act like someone who I really am not. I don't know which it is that I really am. I've always been sensitive, and delicate. I've never been able to do anything remotely wrong without feeling extreme self guilt. Want to know one of my favorite things to think? That deep down inside, I am a happy person. A happy person who just gets sad frequently. I make myself believe that, because it is a very nice thing to think. I want it to be true. The last thing I want to be is some broken, pathetic, purposeless drag that no one really wants to know. I don't want to think that my world is somehow detached from the world that everyone else lives in, though often times I feel like I am going through my life as if it was a dream. I avoid confrontation, because it frightens me. I get hurt easily, and often times I retaliate back. I am stupidly afraid of being wrong or being rejected. As friendly as people think I am, I am not good at making friends. To be honest, I have never really been a very good friend. I have always been afraid of the obligations that come with a friendship, when really sometimes a friend is all that I am dying to have. I am good at being socially secluded. I tried being social once, and that fact that I couldn't handle it ended up with me, as well as others, being very hurt and afraid. It scares me that I don't understand my own emotions, or how to deal with them. Often I just want to talk to someone, but all the while I push everyone away from me. It is not that I think that my life is so hard or unbearable, because I am always able to tell myself that it could be worse. It is simply that when things hit me, they literally hit me hard.

This is very vulnerable of me to share all of this, but all of this hurts me. I can never make up my mind, I feel like I never know when I am right and when I am wrong. And I'm scared, because I feel like I am alone in figuring myself out, while others look at me and think that I'm just being irrational. This is real hurt inside of me, and it has been there for a long time. I need someone's help, I just don't know who to ask. God, maybe. I don't know. I just need to let everyone know that I am not perfect. I am actually rather imperfect. If I act like I am better than you, it is because I am uncomfortable or afraid. It is not pity that I keep inside of me, it is sadness. You have every right to judge me, because, as much as it hurts to admit, I have judged, too. I have done wrong, and I am no better than anyone else. There is not a day that goes by that I even think that I am close to perfect. 

I'm just confused. 

I wanna know, have you ever seen the rain?

It is always a sad time for a writer when they lose their inspiration to write.

 When the raincloud swallows you whole and makes you feel as if happiness is the earth that is being eroded and washed away with every acid drop that life pours down, it is easy to just sit inside a dark house and watch the world crumble through the window. It is all too easy to tell yourself that there is nothing you can do, because honestly- who can stop the rain? It is easy to stay inside and cry, hiding within yourself and the walls sheltering you from the outside elements. It is easy to blame others, blame God, blame fate- blame anyone for the things that you feel are so out of your control. What's hard is accepting that the rain might not stop, now or maybe ever. Realizing that you can't hide inside forever. What's hard is finding the strength to put on your rain boots, grab your umbrella, and walk outside. The rain cannot control you, so why not embrace it? Go ahead, splash in some puddles. The sun might not be out, but you can make your own. What we have to realize is that without the rain and hard things that shower our lives, nothing can grow. Beautiful things can come from heartache.

Don't ever give up, and don't ever be afraid to play in the rain.

A promenade in the rain.

Today the rain has gotten to me. Yesterday was a happy day in the rain, where everything seemed vibrant and dripping with life. But today is different for some reason. As I am walking in the rain to campus this morning, I am alone with my thoughts and the drops of water falling from the sky. Ironically "Purple Rain" comes on my iPod, so I leave it on repeat. It's such a beautiful song, and it made my mind start turning. I suddenly get a pang in my heart to tell everyone close to me that I love them. The urge to simply apologize overwhelms me. Apologize for many things- for not always being the best daughter, for not doing something small when you asked, for not spending time with you because I suddenly changed my plans. There are people in my life that mean so much to me, and I have at some point hurt them all. I don't know about you, but that's a lot for me to take in. I keep walking and I get this feeling that I don't have anything figured out. I think that I can do things, but really I know nothing and am not ready for the world I will so soon have to join. I've had such confidence in myself and my directions, but now this rain is making me feel like a child. I am hopeful for the future, but I also fear for the future. By personal experience I know that in the end, everything will turn out alright. But the uncertain road between where I am and my happy ending sometimes eats away at me like a termite. Who am I going to be? What am I going to do? Who will I disappoint along the way? I realize that I in no way can dwell on these things. It would literally eat me alive. I would be left with nothing but an empty shell- and hollow places can often become filled with undesirable things. I know that things will be okay, but I really want to know. 

To those close to me- I love you. You'll never know how much you have done for me. I might not be able to say it all of the time due to reasons of stupid pride, but even when I act like I can do everything on my own and that you are the last person that I need, you are actually the ones that I need the most. 

To those that I have ever disappointed- I'm sorry. I'm only human, and I am very naive. Sometimes I am guilty of thinking with my heart and not my head. I'm still learning, even though if it is the hard way at times. 

Sadly enough, those that I care most about are the ones that I have disappointed at some point in my life. It breaks my heart, but all I can do is learn from my mistakes and love like there's no tomorrow. My family and my love, you deserve the best life has to offer. I'll do my best to be the daughter, sister, or girl that you deserve. I might be in over my head sometimes, but I do know this much;

All I want's to see you laughing in the Purple Rain.

How Abba ruined my birthday.

I love my birthday. I know that sounds incredibly narcissistic, but it's true. It's not so much the fact that I get gifts that I love (though you will never hear me complain about it), but it's more so the fact that I have something to look forward to. I will give you periodic countdowns just to keep you on your toes. (One month and one week from today, by the way). I also love the fact that my birthday happens to be nestled in the greatest season of all times- autumn. Fall. Whichever you prefer, I love the rain, grey skies and endless opportunities to wear sweatpants and boots that fall has to offer. This time of year just makes me feel so energized and gets my creative juices flowing. But anyway, back to my birthday.

Now I have never not been excited for a birthday. In fact, until just a few minutes ago, I've been excited about my upcoming birthday for years on end. I'm finally turning 18! I'll be a legal adult of the United States. I and only I will own me, I will be the one calling the shots in my newfound adult domain. Sweet liberation! I mean, who wouldn't be excited? Well, leave it to Abba to ruin it for me. I just heard the song "Dancing Queen" and instantly got really, really sad. No longer will I be able to sing along and think of myself as the dancing queen. Once October 13 rolls around, no longer will I be young, sweet, and only 17.  When you are a young girl and hear that song, all you want is to finally be 17 so that Abba would be singing about you. Even though the only tambourine that you will likely be feeling the beat of will be during a rehearsal for your high school band class, that's not the point! The point is that being 17 makes you free, young, and sweet. You can dance and jive to your heart's content and never get arrested for it because you are a minor. Once the dancing queen is 18, that becomes a whole different song. That turns into Ke$ha's "Blow", where:

Dirt and glitter
Cover the floor
We're pretty and sick
We're young and we're bored


Granted, you are still young, but you are no longer sweet! You got bored of the tambourine and are now on the floor covered with glitter and dirt. You go crazy and lose your mind and wear blue lipstick and studs on your eyebrows. Dancing queen is no more. Let's just compare a young and sweet dancing queen to her 18 year old counterpart; 

Nothing screams innocence more than an 18th century costume. The beauty of being young is you are allowed to be naive, obviously. Now let's look what happens after Dancing Queen's metamorphosis into wild and crazy adulthood...

Lord have mercy. Your mythological unicorn friends are now alcoholics. You're dressed like Britney Spears and making out with a one eyed unicorn. You rip off your bra in the middle of a party. There is no hope for you as an outstanding citizen once you surpass the Dancing Queen stage of your life. Quite frankly, this makes me a little sad. I don't want to make out with one eyed unicorns. Give me a tambourine and I'll be entertained for at least an hour. All I want it to hold on to that innocence a little longer. I doubt that Abba would agree to bump the dancing queen's age a year, so I suppose I will just have to resign my crown when the time comes. I'm sure that I'll find another song to celebrate being 18. Though all I've got is Alice Cooper's "I'm 18" ('cause I'm eighteen I get confused every day, eighteen I just don't know what to say, eighteen I gotta get away'). 

Going from a young and sweet dancing queen to an angsty, confused adult. I suppose that is life.

Reasons why I want to live in a field.

"LEXXXXXXXXXXX, blah blah blah blah..."

"Take me to (insert a place that I do not feel like driving to)!!!"

"something something CLOTHES IN THE FLOOR?!? something something something..."

*white noise* *static* *shhhhhhhhhhkkkkkkkkkkkkkkpppphhhhhhhhhhhhfffffffffffffffffff*


These are the things that I hear on a somewhat daily basis in my house. In my house resides three strong willed women. Two LOUD ones, and me- the quiet, reserved one. My mother and sister aren't afraid to tell you how it is, whether it crushes your feelings or not. (My sister just openly and truthfully told my mother that she can't sing, there is a prime example). They just don't care. I could never be that way. I'm too afraid to hurt people's feelings. Either that or I am being passive aggressive and storing my frustration for another time when you least expect it (this is very unhealthy, I don't recommend it). No, I'm the quiet one. I like to keep to myself, and I very much enjoy it that way. I'm the sensitive, emotional one. I can not handle the amounts of estrogen in my household. My feelings get hurt easily. I get cranky easily. And people wonder why I can be unpleasant at times! I'll tell you why- estrogen overexposure. I recently found out from a scientific survey that I am what you call an introvert, and introverts like me need peace and quiet. There is rarely peace and quiet in the environment that I am living in. Also, let it be known that my sister just called me a turd bucket in hopes of making me cry.

What I really want is to move away somewhere obscure. Somewhere that's green out in the middle of nowhere where quiet really exists. I want to grow flowers and water them amidst the morning dew. Maybe I would actually learn how to cook and do so. That would be the day. I want to wake up in the mornings and do yoga in front of my big picture window. I want to be able to sit and read while my dog lays curled up somewhere in a corner. I want to be barefoot all of the time and drink herbal teas. I want to have really really long hair and feel comfortable with my translucent, mascara-less eyelashes. I want to do crafts and give them to people as gifts out of the kindness of my heart. My cabinets will be filled with organic foods, my mind will be full of wonder, and my heart will be full of love. Love for my sweetheart. Love for the earth. Love for the quiet that will envelop me out in the middle of my nowhere. And don't get me wrong, I love my family and would never want a life without them. But sometimes, baby birds just have to fly out of the nest.

My clothing epiphany.

As of today, I have realized that I have come to the point in my life where I really don't care about what to wear. You might be calling a B.S. on that one- but it's true. I have other, less materialistic things that I want to focus on. As long as I am somewhat color coordinated and comfortable, I'm not going to lose sleep over what I am going to wear the next morning. Shockingly enough, I wouldn't mind blending in for a while. I don't feel like being noticed for the textiles on my body. Quite frankly, I don't care if I get noticed at all. The only people that I am interested in noticing me are people who see my potential and can help me fulfill it. I am attending college to learn and find something to do with my life. I'm not paying thousands of dollars to socialize. Now don't get me wrong, some socialization is a key factor to a healthy life. But being the introvert that I am, fulfilling the "college life" stigma is not at the top of my priority list. I am here to impress my professors, not my colleagues. And as long as I am not scantily clad, I doubt that my professors care what I am wearing. If I wanted to impress anyone, it would be myself. Or my boyfriend. Luckily for me, he thinks that I am amazing just the way I am (props to Bruno). I want to focus on discovering what to do with my life. I want to love the earth and help those who need helping. I am more interested in enriching my life than enriching my closet. So give me yoga pants and nostalgic t-shirts. Give me Zak's clothes that I steal from his house and my ugly periwinkle Vibram Fivefingers. My mind is subject to change, but as of now I am standing my ground.

All hail comfiness!

Amazing Grace.

Life is seldom easy. I understand that. I accept it, even. That still doesn't mean that don't wish it to be another way. Where everything is good, wholesome and pure. There are many things that I do not understand- myself included. I would actually put myself at the top of the mystery list quite often. Are people like clay, malleable and ever changing due to the people and things that handle them, with the ability to reshape to the next set of hands? Or are we like slabs of marble, where once we've been carved there's no going back other than natural erosion or someone chipping away at you? I do not know. To the question of whether or not people can change, I say definitely. Absolutely. When you find something or someone that you realize you love more than you love yourself, anything is possible. If you really have the desire to change, you will find a way. Unfortunately, there is no way to change the past. What is done is done. Fortunately, the past is the past. Learn from your mistakes. Know what to not do again. That is the beautiful thing about something so painful; mistakes can be learning tools. If you are ever given a second chance, take it. That is called grace, my friend, and you won't come across it very often on this earth. Grace is a blessing that need not ever be taken for granted. Now we must accept that we are all humans and sometimes we can let our gratitude slip, but constantly be reminded of the gift you have been given. Do everything in your power to keep what you have, because someone gave it to you despite the fact that they had no reason to do so. Grace can not be explained, it is not logical, so save yourself the trouble and don't even try to figure it out. Just accept it and be thankful. Grace is a beautiful thing. Appreciate beautiful things.

Life might certainly not be easy, but gold will shine when it's encompassed with dirt. As Switchfoot brilliantly claims;

"A shadow proves there's sunshine."

An ode to the Native Americans

I would like to send out an indirect apology to the Native Americans. Seeing as how I have Cherokee running through my veins (you can not tell by looking at me) and the fact that I am an empathetic being, I need to get this out in the open.

I'm an American. Not in the natural, "I was here first" sense like you are, but in the immigrant, material-lovin' sense of my ancestors. So on the behalf of my mongrel Euro-American relatives from long ago, I want to say that I am sorry. They were idiots. You were obviously here first, with a good thing going on. I want to give you kudos for sticking to your guns, er, tomahawks. If you are sitting in a chair and someone sitting in the chair beside of you stands up and tells you to move so they can sit their lazy behind in the very spot where you are sitting, would you move? Hell no, you wouldn't! You are real men and women, and you rightfully stood your ground! Unfortunately the person who bid you move your tush from the seat just so happened to be the fluffy pink princess who took out her blingin' iPhone to call her daddy so that he can "take care of it, pumpkin." The next thing you know you've got the SWAT team tackling you to the ground and throwing you out the window from the 10th story. We were the bullies who did whatever it took to get what we wanted. Now technically you'll never admit that this land was your land, but hey, you lived here nonetheless. We took your homes, your dwelling places, your resources, good Lord, we took your buffalo! Shame on us! (although, what can I say, "Everybody wants a water buffalo, yours is fast but mine is slow...") We had the wrong idea. Why couldn't we at least share? We could have lived in perfect harmony if my ancestors weren't all me me me me me. We could have had powwows, a "you braid my hair, I show you how to cross stitch" kind of thing. If only my ancestors put a little more value on a good hairdo.

Native Americans, you have a special place in my heart. I love horses, spiced violet tea, animal skins and the smell of good tobacco. You've got your spirituality and I sincerely respect that. In my opinion, it makes much more sense than the nonsensical nonsense that some of us Americans believe. You live long lives, soaking up wisdom through your browned skin. So from me, I am sorry for the evil acts of my forefathers. If they had never been bullies, America might be a better place today.

Your white sister,
Alexis

What is a blog, anyway?

First of all, I am very new to this. I love to write, and considering all of the issues and comments flying around and battling each other in my brain, I would like to think that every now and then I will have something at least mildly interesting to flow effortlessly from my brain to my fingers to this very keyboard that I am typing on. You might ask, who am I blogging for? Alexis, what exactly is the purpose of your blog? And to that question I say, everything has a purpose. Whether this serves as my vulnerable internet journal, an inspirational series of experiences, entertainment or something to read when there is literally no other option, I will be fine with any of these. Words are not meant to simply exist and be shackled inside of your brain, they are meant to be set free and fly form the nest. Even though this can be sometimes dangerous, it is simply something that must be done. Don't let the fear of being shot down with a blazing arrow or extreme humiliation keep you from sharing what is on your mind! Because somewhere out there, there is someone who will agree with you. Or someone to kindly (or not so kindly) let you know that your opinion is probably the most vile, ignorant, dumb-ass statement that they have ever heard, quickly prompting you to reevaluate your life and belief systems. Either way, you are going to grow as a person. Hopefully. You might even find that you will blog the blog of all blogs, get discovered kind of like Justin Beiber did on Youtube and become a blogging icon. The only difference is that you will actually have talent and your main audience will likely be over the age of 13. The best advice I can give you is to dream big. Write to your heart's content, because if you are lucky someone out there will read the fruit of your tedious labors and will want it by the bushels.

Now to my second concern;
Who came up with the word "blog"?