twenty one.

It was the best of times; it was the end of times.

The school councilor was clueless 'cause I never skipped classes. Perfect attendance. Imperfect accents. Speech impediments they could never really fix and I faked bad eyesight so I could wear glasses. Considered doing something that could cripple me...wanted a wheelchair, wanted the sympathy...

It was the best of times; it was the end of times.

Have you ever stopped and considered the value of friends? Now, I'm not talking "Oh yeah, So-and-so is my friend" type friends. I'm talking true, legitimate friends. Friends that would do anything for you. The type of friends that know exactly what you mean without having to say anything. I am grateful for this.

I've never considered myself a social outcast. Sure, there have been great highs and seemingly earth shattering lows, but when it boils down to it, I've always had a good support system. Unfortunately, that's not how everyone views it. There are people who don't have the type of support I'm sure a lot of us feel. There are people who don't have anyone they can even consider a friend.

These are the people that inspire me.

These are the people that show me that no matter how hard I feel life is, there's always a silver lining. There's always a brighter side to my shortsighted frustration, my foolish humiliation. No matter how merciless our ongoing predicaments may seem, we can take solace in the fact that there are individuals out there who have felt more than we may ever feel. There are people who understand our "pain", and then some...and they still manage to keep themselves positive.

Next time you're thinking about how tough things are, I encourage you to imagine yourself as the person who might have penned the italicized portion of this post.

It is the best of times; it is the end of times.

twenty.

Neon, neon...who knows how long she can go before she burns away.

When you hear the word fire, you most likely hear of it in a negative context. Often times a relationship will die because it's "lost the fire" that it once had. Many people use the phrase "burnt out" as a scapegoat for lacking the imagination to keep that ever elusive fire burning. It's looked at as something that has to be maintained, rather than something that should be nourished.

I see it differently.

When I hear the word fire, I hear it as a call. A call to live with fire. To live with passion. I want to accept the challenge to ignite myself, metaphorically. Spark an introspective revolution. Fan the embers of what could be, and accept the flames that come. Without a chance of being burned, what are we living for?