Alright so

I've realized I'm gunna need a dog when I go on my trip. Like, for sure. It's kind of a must.
Imagine little me, setting up my tent alone in a site filled with other people and some person walks over. He says, "Hey there, how ya doin? You here all by yourself?"
"Yep.."
"Oh, well that's interesting. Have a good night!"

Later that evening, while I'm sleeping soundly in my amazing teal colored REI sleeping bag, dreaming about hiking...

ZIP! Bash! Now I'm dead/unconscious and about to be raped.

Now imagine this situation with a German Shepard by my side...

See my point?

Why does

being honest feel like you're breaking pieces of yourself off?
leaving them on the floor, crossing your fingers for them to be picked up, not swept aside.
then turning away with your head held high when the pieces are ignored... keep your pride in check. in check

I was

asking for it

BTW

everyone should understand that i love ballet with my whole little heart and that one day i will dedicate my whole life to becoming a ballerina. idk if it'll be when i'm 50 or 23 but i need to do it. i need to work at those tiny idiosyncrasies over and over again until i go mad. i need to kill myself trying to be graceful, to lift, to lower my shoulders, to turn out my leg, to raise my chin, point my foot.
i can't wait for my toes to bleed from doing point. i can't wait to hate my teacher for pushing me so hard.
i have such a deep passion for an art form i've hardly tried, i don't get it. i usually have to realize i'm good at something to fall in love with it, but i mean.. my "stumble" sends me to ballet pictures all the time. i cry during ballet movies...ballet shows. my ballet dream is like a 5 year old's dream to be president. possible but seemingly impossible.
but definitely possible.

I'm officially

beginning my process for writing music. i think lyrics will need to be my first start.
emotions into words into song. i've started writing a little bit. trying to keep a tempo.. a beat of some kind.
oh and not to sound generic. steering away from using cliche words and phrases is difficult. when there is a file in your brain, stock full of words that easily express your feelings, stopping yourself from tapping into it is hard.

it's also difficult to not be overly obvious about who you're writing about. maybe all the artists out there make it really clear to the person they're writing about too, but it seems inconspicuous to the rest of us. doubtful.
hello, just be creative please. pleaaase. i've gotta tap into this part of my talent. i have a feeling it's there, and i think everyone can do whatever they want, so i'm gunna do it.
i'm gunna have a song or two ready... and it'll be good. so there.

Sometimes all

my brain wants me to say is "nevermind"

Today was

my last day of classes. No more college for Natalie. She's done for a while.
Well.. I have finals next week. BUT my classes are done.

I left art history and wanted to hug my professor, share with him the moment I was having. He would have taken it in with me. He's that kind of man, you'd know I was right if you knew him.
That's a moment I'll regret for a while. There's seconds in life that are full of human spirit and opportunity. They're on the brink of being something you'll always remember. And sometimes I let my feet fall into them. Other times... fear stops me. Even if it is just for a second.
Hesitation is your worst enemy. Fear and hesitation.
If you wait, you'll miss it. You will, and it will be gone forever.

I can't get that back. But I guess that's alright.
I connected with another person today, in a very surprising way. So I guess it all comes out even.
Nature is constantly trying to achieve equilibrium. It's a fact. Symmetry and equality.
We'll never get there, but all we can ever do, day to day, is try.

If I told

you everything you could have been, would you care to miss yourself as much as I did?
I wish you'd see how lovely you could have been. How fun, real, exciting and full of talent and life.
Why did you let yourself rot?
You decayed, from the inside out.
A rotten pumpkin, in late November. Crumpled and blackened, forgotten on a porch you don't belong to.
It's only days until they notice you. You molded, destroyed piece of art. Worthless now, they'll throw you out.
You'll be amongst the rest of the trash, where you belong now. Mixed in with the filth, disposable and pointless. Deteriorating until you're gone.

You could have been so much more. You really could have.

There's something

about you. when i look at you, sometimes i can tell how much you've loved in your life. i can feel how much heart you've given away. it's like there's bits of you missing.
All i want to do is catch them in the air, those bits of you, that are slowing gliding down through the air, like a feather. the wind holding the bits of you up enough that they don't ever land on the ground too hard.
Thank goodness they didn't shatter. Thank goodness you weren't made of glass, or maybe I would never see those bits of you, floating in front of me. Those pieces of love you've already let go of.
I wish I could catch them and keep them for myself. They aren't mine, though.
Even if I tried, my hand wouldn't grasp them. The feathers would float just past my fingertips, dancing around my hand. Teasing me.
They weren't made for me. I think I can learn to know that's okay. Because it is okay. It's okay that life may never let me have my own bits of you. A real part of me hopes it does. Wishes. But I can't control that. You can't either. And that's okay.
Because you'll keep loving and floating and loving. You'll lose more bits of you too.
But that's okay, because I will too.