Lois Lane

As the countdown begins and the remaining seconds, days, weeks, moments left of summer tick by until I bid this beautiful state adieu, I am wrapping up jobs and commitments that have truly defined the time that I've been home. (Obviously, I didn't learn about how to cut down my run-on sentences.)

I battled my last deadline yesterday, turning in my article with a half-hour or so to spare, and took my official photograph for the column I'll continue throughout the school year. I never would have thought when I was pouting outside a graduation party in May about my boring summer (I had been home for a week) that I would be a published reporter by August. I never would have been able to imagine when I started my blog in February that I would have my own column with my own 12" to share my thoughts with Tri-Town readers. And part of me still thinks that no one actually reads my words every other Tuesday, but I think they do! I have to hope that they do...

We are so completely unaware of the changes that will occur in our lives when we wake up each day and greet the morning. And whether or not we greet that rising sun with a smile and an earnest handshake, or a frown and a slap in the face, we will learn, we will experience, we will change.

And sometimes things are so comfy-cozy, am I right? Sometimes, where we live currently is as wonderful as nustling into a warm blanket in front of a fire when it's snowing outside and your signficant other is whispering sweet nothings in your ear. (I love Christmas.) And we are driving down our life's highway, and we see this road sign and it tells us that "change" is coming our way in 100!, 70!, 30!, 0! miles and we screech on the breaks because, holy moly, we don't want to leave our paradise!

I think the biggest leap you can take is keeping your hope alive that when your foot steps on that accelerator again and you take the exit for "change," that you will enter into a more wonderful experience than before. And for me that would be a warm blanket to nustle into, a roaring fire, my signifcant other and Frank Sinatra crooning while I eat Godiva Rasberry Chocolate Truffle ice cream and don't gain a single holiday pound.

Put that on my Christmas list.

And you can just call me Lois Lane, what with all the reports I've been reporting, but don't you think that the real challenge in leaping to "change" is putting your foot on that accelerator? If I'm Miss Lane, where is my Superman? And I'm not falling from buildings, but I need some help putting the pedal to the metal. Jesus, my Superman (how cheesy can I get?), give me strength to have a lead foot!

The day just seems brighter, folks.
And I think it's because the mileage for "change" on my road signs are decreasing and decreasing, slowly but surely. I'll be heading back east, I'll turn my back on my sweet Rocky Mountain Paradise for a few months, and I'll greet the new New England days with open arms, a warm smile, and an earnest handshake.

The Chronicles of Marijuana

I mean.. Narnia... I mean.. crap!

No, I did not flub up the title. I meant to insert the word marijuana into the title box. And don't judge me because I did!

Once upon a time, last semester, I wrote a research essay on the effects of marijuana and why it should not be legalized to benefit our youthful generation, and those generations to come. And all of the words that were gathered together to make up this essay were ones that I thought purposeful because I've seen friends come and go, and where they've gone is a land filled with smoke and no sense of valuable life. And I've got the shakes just thinking about the people I love in life who run the risk of ruining their reality all for the sake of a good high.

And maybe I've got the shakes because I forgot to eat lunch, too.
I don't have the munchies today, it seems.

I come from a land filled with weed and hippies, tree-huggers and vegans. Where most spend their whole paycheck's at Whole Foods because everyone here knows that organic food will make you immortal much like the worship of crystals will. And a lot of people here only wear Birkenstocks, and I bet you anything that a lot of them did acid in the 60s. This land is called Boulder, Colorado. And I just don't know how I fit into all of this.

I've never been high, I really have no interest in being high (unless my travels take me to Amsterdam...just kidding...am I kidding?) , and I doubt that I ever will be higher than 35,000 feet whilst riding an airplane to and from Massachusetts or elsewehere in this big, fat world.

But where does that put me into relation to all of the people I know who regularly smoke or get baked from eating baked goods filled with their beloved Mary Jane? Will I forever be excluded? Does it even matter?

I believe it does matter. Because at the end of the day, we all have a need for human contact and relational love, and whether or not I am able to breach the gap between the drugged and the sober, and still connect with my friends and loved ones... I will push those boundaries, build that bridge to the other side where I can still BE with my people who I care so much about that I won't let marijuana come between us.