“Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else.” (Judy Garland)

this seems appropriate to post as of the moment 

 

AUGUSTANA LYRICS

“Boston”

She said I think I’ll go to Boston…
I think I’ll start a new life,
I think I’ll start it over, where no one knows my name,
I’ll get out of California, I’m tired of the weather,
I think I’ll get a lover and fly em out to Spain…
I think I’ll go to Boston,
I think that I’m just tired
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind…
I think I need a sunrise, I’m tired of the sunset,
I hear it’s nice in the Summer, some snow would be nice…
Boston… where no one knows my name…In the light of the sun, is there anyone? Oh it has begun…Oh dear you look so lost, eyes are red and tears are shed,This world you must’ve crossed… you said…You don’t know me, you don’t even care,She saidYou don’t know me, you don’t wear my chains…Essential yet appealed, carry all your thoughts acrossAn open field,When flowers gaze at you… they’re not the only ones who cryWhen they see youYou said…You don’t know me, you don’t even care,She saidYou don’t know me, you don’t wear my chains…She said I think I’ll go to Boston…I think I’ll start a new life,I think I’ll start it over, where no one knows my name,I’ll get out of California, I’m tired of the weather,I think I’ll get a lover and fly em out to Spain…I think I’ll go to Boston,I think that I’m just tiredI think I need a new town, to leave this all behind…I think I need a sunrise, I’m tired of the sunset,I hear it’s nice in the Summer, some snow would be nice…Boston… where no one knows my name…

“Never regret something that once made you smile.”

I’m like an earthquake, the type of natural disaster that no one can predict. My most exciting moments come when I least expect them, like love. My attention span is short, and at any point, my interest might pass swiftly from one amusement to another. I plunge in headfirst. My personality is that of the suicidal personalities who seize the day by letting go of any expectations of a tomorrow. I perform many feats that I have no real interest in doing. Pressure doesn’t define me; the word is too heavy to explain the tactics of my person. I’m fragile. I trust people, which seems important. I imagine my first drink the way I imagine my first sex, and I don’t think I could have either with someone I don’t feel wholly comfortable with. I anticipate that being drunk will make me feel just as vulnerable as being naked does. I expect it to strip away my inhibitions, and in my openness, I’m afraid my private confidences will come tumbling out. I want to know that the person I drink with won’t laugh if I inadvertently reveal all of me. Drinking is too intimate an act to do for the first time with new friends, who know none of my secrets. Only recently have I begun to wonder if I’m faking my know-how. I think my expertise might be another act, a testament to my compulsive lying, and my love for performance. I might be pretending that I know the way. The best friends I had in junior high seem to be becoming less and less compatible as best friends now that we’re in high school. I laugh more, and they’ve become quieter and more reluctant to speak. As my emotions become more transparent, theirs become more opaque. Our time together is starting to feel off-kilter. We have bonded in a way that only people who have experienced tension can. I feel a conjunction with them. I feel grateful to them even though they make me uncomfortable. Even though I’m grateful, I sense they have also taken away a piece of me. Still, the loss is worth it because I have won their respect. I’m confident. It takes little to entertain me. The truth is…I want to share because I like the attention. I hate boys. They understand competition in a way that girls don’t. More than that, they seem to understand who they are and who they’re supposed to be. The only commandment that boys seem to live by is “Thou shalt be strong to the point of being cocky.” And while I don’t think I’d be any good at being a boy, given the fact that I am constantly afraid, constantly crying, and characteristically weak, I envy the fact that boyhood’s rules are consistant. Being male is not a mess of contradictions, the way being female is. It is not trying to resolve how to be both desirable and smart, soft and sturdy, emotionable and capable. It seems boys come off the assembly line finished, and we’re the one’s left wanting. In a way, I have been waiting for something sacred to present itself. I’ve been expecting some sign to come like a lightening clap and tell me I can stop hating myself because this awkward period is finally over. For once, I don’t mind being alone in public. Usually, I’d be frightened of what solitude might say about me. I’d worry that someone would trot up the walkway, see me sitting in the crabgrass, and assume that no one likes me enough to want to sit with me. Lately, though, I don’t care what anyone thinks. For the first time in a long time, I can think straight. I am not exerting mental energy, trying to decide whether my mom is lying when she tells me I’m pretty. I am not thinking about a conversation I had two days ago, and rolling my eyes because I said something stupid. I am not thinking about anything. The word finally occurs to me: I am comfortable. Inside, I feel exotic and dangerous. I’m a cobra inside a kitty cat.