I have always been a really prepared person. At a very young age I realized that I would need to constantly watch over my shoulder, because chances are, the people around me are going to hurt me. Having a plan for whatever may happen in the worst case scenario would prepare me when they came my way. As I have aged I have devised a plan and mentality of not letting anyone in my heart or head. By not allowing anyone to break me, bring me down, or let alone slow me down, I have been successful in school and work. I have become even more independent than I have been in the past. But now I have realized that before I had control over the situation I let David into my heart. He is a part of me, he is my half, and he is the only man for me. Even through the 3 year break up, dating other people but staying in contact, I have realized that there is no way to escape my feelings for him. And no one could ever even get close to the way he makes me feel, I have tried. But Kynzie was not part of my plan. And every time I see her it makes me sad to know that she is not mine, she is not ours, she is his. And always will be. Sometimes I get angry because I feel he was selfish and inconsiderate when he had her. he did not think of us, if we got back together, which deep in both of our hearts we knew we would. I do not want anything to appear as if I do not love and care about her as if she were my own. But I did not prepare for her, I didn’t have 9 months to warm up to her. I am scared of a 2 yr old because she is actually spontaneous. She is not planned, I am not prepared. I like that I know what to expect out of different people. I like that I know adults are generally not going to always be spontaneous and have extreme mood swings. I like knowledge and communication in an individual and it is very difficult to understand Kynzie when we are not on the same level, obviously. I have discovered that as much as I like kids, I am not good at parenting. That is what really scares me. Not her, not her mood swings, not her learning, she is amazing!! But me, literally me. I have desired to be a housewife with a loving husband and our three children for as long as I can remember. What the hell am I suppose to do if I cannot handle, understand, or enjoy my children? I want to be able to enjoy Kynz without worrying all the time or feeling like I have lost moments with her because I was ill prepared. I just want to enjoy the time I have with her and hope that she enjoys it too! Ooooohhhh… I am growing up so much faster than I anticipated or my plan had accounted for. God is telling me something, but man I wish he would harden me a bit so I could handle it better! Please Lord, give me the strength I need to overcome my daily tortures. I want to be the best I can be, for me, for him, for her, for my family and friends.

School will start next week. I will be going to school Monday – Thursday. I will be working Thursday – Sunday. I will not have a day off until Christmas break, unless I call in “sick”, or class is canceled.

Monday & Wednesday
1:30 – 4:20 Installation
4:30 – 7:20 Ceramic Procedures

9:30 – 12:20 Advanced Ceramics
6:00 – 8:50 American Women’s Studies

9:30 – 12:20 Advanced Ceramics
1:30 – 10:30 Work, BPS

Friday – Sunday
30 hrs of work most likely 6-5

So I could work on installations Monday mornings before class, work on ceramics all day Tuesdays, check on ceramics Monday and Wednesdays during procedures, work on W.S. Wednesdays mornings.. and maybe then I would have time on the weekends for catching up and having a social life? Maybe 🙂 huh.. yeah right, but for now it makes me smile.. probably because I am fucked in the head and have to plan everything. But seriously now that there is a plan I am excited and ready to test it out. Lol.

P.S. I need a job in Norman so my life could be easier!!


I need a real vacation

I have been busy busy busy. I feel like I never get a break. Even when I do have a break I have shit to take care of. People to be with. I really wish life wasn’t so busy. I know it isn’t just my lifestyle but the actual lifestyle of an American. Always on the run.. it just makes life so boring. It can make life interesting as well, but I enjoy the times I have to just sit and think, listen to the breeze, the rustle in the trees, and the bugs and birds chirping. I just want to enjoy the heat on my back and just relax. Even on vacation there wasn’t a break. Drive here, drive there, pick up phone here, talk to this guy, eat this food.. I just want a vacation. A real vacation from technology and life. I want to literally sit on a beach, no phone, no laptop, to television, no technology at all. Just me in a bathing suit sipping a corona, watching the waves crash. Ahhhh sounds amazing!

My Foundations

I am trying so hard to make this life my own. I am trying so hard to live on my own. I am working so hard for my dreams. I am working so hard for my beliefs. I am doing so much and I feel I am getting little in return. I am going to have to work harder. I cannot cry, I cannot pity myself, I cannot back down! Those actions would all be too easy. I am all I ever really have in this world. My mind, my body, my soul, my heart, and spirit. I must present myself as who I am: nothing more or less. I am my roots, whether they are bad or good. They are what I am, what I believe, the ideals that have built me, the life I have come from.

Miranda Lambert
The House That Built Me
I know they say you can’t go home again
I just had to come back one last time
Ma’am I know you don’t know me from Adam
But these handprints on the front steps are mine

Up those stairs in that little back bedroom
Is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar
I bet you didn’t know under that live oak
My favorite dog is buried in the yard

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years
From Better Homes and Gardens magazine
Plans were drawn and concrete poured
Nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to mama’s dream

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

You leave home and you move on and you do the best you can
I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I walk around I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

Lucky enough for me, My mother still owns the house that built me. Lucky enough for me – I don’t have to live in it anymore. However, I wish to always keep it close to me. I have hidden myself from many people, attempted a disguise. But I am tired of hiding. The cloak I have been hiding under is hindering my ambitions and limiting what I am capable of in this world.


I have always said I would rather be broke and happy, then rich and unhappy. And for once in my life I understand what its like to be happy and broke. But there are many things money makes easier. I have been lazy for art due to the cost of my ideas. I am now more concerned with when a bill is due and what I will sacrifice to pay it. Its difficult for me to multitask. I have always realized that I am terrible at multitasking, but I believe its a serious flaw and I would like to increase my ability to actually do it.

I guess there are a lot of questions I have to ask myself, but I won’t ask them. And I am uncomfortable with sharing my thoughts. I am hoping that in May when school has subsided life will get loose.

It has been probably 4 years since I have felt this way. They are not so much butterflies as they are curiosities, adventures yet discovered, a sense of being anxious, almost living again and being pushed for my own life.

Definitely nervous. But I like that I shake so much.


It was the boyfriend. It is the city. It is the money. It isn’t the schooling. It isn’t the job. The boyfriend I consciously lost. The city I will never lose. The money is never mine. The schooling is mine. The job will change.

I will always be exactly who I am. I will always have control over my emotions. I will always have control over my art. I will always have control with who I spend my time. There are many things in life that I will have control over. And there are many things in life that I will not. I have come to a point where the things I know I cannot change are merely a waste of my time to worry about. I don’t like to worry when there is nothing I can do. The most I can do is write, just like I am now.

I worry about being self-destructive. I worry about reverting to bottling my feelings. I still worry. I want to find the root of my problems. I want to dominate it! I want to win for a change.


I don’t want bullshit all over again. I don’t want to give in to another act. I don’t want to be who I’ve been.


Definition: Depression as given by Google

  • a mental state characterized by a pessimistic sense of inadequacy and a despondent lack of activity
  • a long-term economic state characterized by unemployment and low prices and low levels of trade and investment
  • natural depression: a sunken or depressed geological formation
  • sad feelings of gloom and inadequacy
  • a period during the 1930s when there was a worldwide economic depression and mass unemployment
  • low: an air mass of lower pressure; often brings precipitation; “a low moved in over night bringing sleet and snow”
  • depressive disorder: a state of depression and anhedonia so severe as to require clinical intervention
  • a concavity in a surface produced by pressing; “he left the impression of his fingers in the soft mud”
  • angular distance below the horizon (especially of a celestial object)
  • pushing down; “depression of the space bar on the typewriter”

I am tired of the snow, sleet, rain, and weather of Oklahoma. I have a strong hatred for my job, but it pays and its not the worst out there. I am thankful for having it. But I hate it! I dream about it. It keeps me stressed. It doesn’t pay near enough for the shit I have to deal with there. I am tired of the feeling of sharing my earnings. I have always been a really sharing, caring, giving individual but I am tired of being that. I want to be given love, gifts, advice, assistance, money. I want to be rewarded for what I have given out. I am tired of being the bearer of relationship knowledge. I am tired of being the sugar momma. I am tired of being the mother. I want to be a child. I want to be my age. I want to to be me. Why can’t I do what I want? I think that these feelings have bottled for too long. But when I blurt them out, whenever I finally say these secrets. When I finally complain and say whats on my mind, YOU don’t listen. Damn this life. Damn this house. Damn this town. I want Danielle back.

I don’t want to to move from where i sit. I don’t want to work. I don’t want to paint. I don’t want to write. I don’t want to read. I don’t want to breathe. I don’t want to do anything. But I found myself crying on the floor in the closet. I found myself crying in the shower. I found myself weak getting dressed. I find myself falling apart. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t like to be this person. I am not this girl. I am outgoing. I am outspoken. I am strong-minded, independent, vibrant, loving-Danielle.

What exactly is the problem? Does this happen often?

Often no, more frequently, yes. Is is the boyfriend. Is it the job. The schooling. The work. The money. The town. The memories. The past. Everything.

I want to smile. I want to get excited. I want to indulge in sexual behavior and enjoy the rush and want more. I want to live. I don’t just want to be alive.

Who knows what this is, who cares.

Time Marches On

Why am I so content with just sitting here? Why does my mind constantly go back to the past? I hate reliving everything I have tried to escape. How am I suppose to move forward without running away from the past. I want to defeat the past. I want to actually move forward. I don’t want to keep imagining the worst and having it block my thoughts from anything better.

I have been listening and learning about other individuals lifestyles and how they have grown up. It appears to me that the way in which someone grows up sticks with them forever. That they will always make that their way of life. They will always look upon those times and make sure they are staying true to themselves and their heritage. But when I have no heritage or culture that I can grasp, or that I can tell is apparent in my life then what do I grasp onto? All I have are my memories.

Every time I get to this point I want to break down. I can no longer get to this point. I am so tired of being in this situation. I am so tired of letting something control my life, that has nothing to do with what I am now. It kills me to acknowledge the pain I have held captive inside. I don’t want to try explain why I am so angry. I don’t like to tell anyone. I don’t want to be that girl. The one who lets one event control her life. But its hard to escape when it was multiple events. A way of life. Something I knew was wrong, but didn’t have enough knowledge about. I wanted so much to be informed. I wanted so much to be empowered. I want so much to show someone else that they can have those same feelings if only they shared their experiences. But how can I expect people to open up when I continue to throw dirt over the past in an attempt to bury and hide it.

I have grown to be so independent. And its hard to think that after all this time I was still the victim. I can’t let that leave my soul. I am my own worst enemy. Its not the events as much as the self hatred for what all has happened to the events. Its amazing how much time can and cannot cover up. Its even more amazing how little things like a song, a fragrance, a symbol, the weather anything can spark a memory and cause me to curl up and not want to be seen, or touched. Its so much easier to write these things down, and its so much easier to talk them through in my head. But I hate saying them aloud. I hate replaying anything. I feel like an idiot. I feel like everyone is staring and judging me.

I wish I had memories of my father pushing me in a swing, or teaching me how to two step. I wish sometimes my memory would just be wiped clean so I could start completely over. It would be nice to document the good times so that maybe I could compare these beautiful images to a way of life rather than all of the bad memories.

I remember making mud pies, eating strawberry swirl ice cream sticks from the ice cream truck for only 25 cents, have mud wrestling fights with the girls in the front yard, making an igloo in the backyard, making a whirlpool in the pool, playing with a bouncy ball in the bowling alley with my best friend in a brown skirt and top with a cute little dog on it, i remember making my mom tacky paper and beaded jewelry, and getting my first easel. I remember being scared of the clown across the street and my mom still insisting on her coming to mine and my sisters birthday party, or my mother tricking me saying she forgot my birthday… I remember falling through the cracks of my bunk bed and cracking me head on the floor, or getting my brothers dirty underwear from under his bed and washing them in the toilet. Collectively I can recall about one good memory for every year up until maybe middle school in the house of this man.

I remember not getting to eat dinner because I didn’t do my chores to his standards, I remember accidentally finding his vulgar movies and magazines, I remember getting chairs thrown at me for supporting my sister standing up to him, standing on a step stool to clean the dishes, laundry, and kitchen table. I remember taking showers and not being able close my eyes because i was too scared he would show up to watch and touch me again, I recall threatening to tell my mother. I once needed money to go to frontier city with my friends and the only way I could do it was to allow him to draw a sun on my right breast over my nipple and wear it all night. I can still smell the avon lotion he used, one scent to rub on his body and the other fragrance purely for masturbation. I can still feel the grit on his hands. I could describe his hands and draw them identical to that time. I remember how clean and dark my room was when he entered. I remember hearing the fights he would have with my sister. I remember going to her crying my eyes out scared and ashamed at how defenselessness I felt when he was around. I can still remember the way her room was set up, the glass in the mirror broken. Her hair around her face and the way she comforted me. She is my savior. She took care of me, because in order to save her life we couldn’t tell my mother.

But time marches on…

And if I could bury him then I would!

But instead I guess I will always bury these memories..

What is Low?

I finally finished Culture Jam, and loved it! I’m working on Fast Food Nation. I would love to buy In the Absence of the Sacred, by Jerry Mander. But something I have noticed is that regardless of how many books or magazines or websites I read, subscribe to, or engulf myself with I still have a tremendous problem with being motivated to sketch, thinking beyond the pages, and how I would like to interpret this feeling of disgust for the speed in which people are moving. I keep looking at the work I produced and am so disconnected with whats going on. None of the ceramics work translates the way I would like it to. I really enjoy my paintings and can’t wait to see my skill improve, but I have yet to even pull a stretcher out and start working indirectly. The same ideas continue to pop up in my head about professionalism, success, and meaning. And nothing I have done is successful enough for me. Nothing I have made is speaking the way it needs to.

How do I find points of interest in my surroundings?
What am I interested in?
How do I continue to move forward instead of spending breaks doing nothing art related?
What would satisfy me as working, and moving forward?
How do I make my art my work, and not just an expensive hobby?
Why am I not committed completely?
Is this career right for me?

I am very independent, and I like it that way. But I see it causing problems. How do I make a compromise, without compromising myself and my being in the process. I have so much negativity and I can’t help but want to do everything myself and for myself. So why can I not work for me? And why do I allow other people to get in the way of my work?

Am I finding ways to blame other people? Am I covering something up?

Why do I have so many questions and why do they have such dangerous answers?

So I guess, is this a low or a high of emotion? Or is it rather a realization for change?

I want to make a change every year so I can see an actual change in myself, or at least one thing I can compare to keep things a little more simple. I have never had a new years resolution and I decided I would be ready for events and timing, so I’m not late. And to not speed excessively. They go hand in hand very well. I am also wanting to take more photographs for myself. I want to see documentation of my year. I want to know why exactly I always feel like there is not much to live for. Or why I never have any time. I never want to feel like I have wasted my year. I am hoping this will motivate me.

Hopefully this is not low, but rather a high to realize change.

A New Beginning

I have made a point to fulfill my summer to the best of my ability. And I feel like in many ways I have succeeded and in many more I have failed. I have done so much in comparison to previous summers, but at the same time I would have liked to push my summer experience a little further by exploring new mediums or even practicing some of the trades I have already been taught. I shouldn’t complain and I shouldn’t be ungrateful for the things I have been influenced by. But I am. And I am dragging myself down by acting this way.

My mind has been filled with relationships past and present. Things that have gone wrong. The ways in which I have hurt other people or further more the way that they have hurt me by the constant attachment. I have realized that I am completely incapable of letting go of the past. Everyone I have ever met , a friend of any sort, has found a way to lodge themselves into my heart and head and keep me locked down and pinned to their existence. I find myself sleeping for longer periods of time so that I can see them in my dreams. But these dreams are not always a way of being happy. I will yell at them, hurt them, recall moments when we were together and make a continuous replay of the moments. My dreams are a montage of the events that we shared and stuck out the most. The worst part about these dreams is that I refuse to share them with anyone. And whenever I see something that reminds me of a moment in the dream, a reflection of the past, the replay starts all over again and it is like a reset to my emotions, attitude, and concern with whatever was going on before the memory was sparked.

I’m sure I just need to push all of these memories and feelings into my work. For so long I was this way and as soon as I was able to funnel these threads of the past into something worth exploring and something that intrigued me rather than depressed me was a success. But now that I have become so detached from everything that I want and need to be I have become a mess. A mess. Me. I don’t want this. I want the happiness that I felt for the many hours I would pour into the ceramics facility in the wee hours of the morning. I want the feeling of waking up with paint on my toes and fixative on my fingers.

I wish school would make its way back into my heart sooner than the start of another school year so that I feel as if I have made some accomplishment appointed within myself.