he would make me drink juice. but this isn't about that. hope it makes sense

Well.
I was going to tell you how I’m starting things out on the right foot (look closely at the picture above and then reread that last sentence). But, hmm, I heard about a friend who was struck by a certain malaise.

The French Revolution marked the fall of everything (but the food) that had controlled France: monarchy and church. No one was sure where to turn. Another king? More Christianity? A parliament? A constitution? Alfred Musset (now garbled by my horrible translation) described the generation of the time as living in between two worlds ni l’un ni l’autre (neither part of one nor the other). “When one spoke of a throne or an alter, they responded: they’re only four pieces of wood; we have nailed them and ripped the nails out again... A feeling of unspeakable sickness (malaise) has begun to ferment in the hearts of the young people” ( La confession d’un enfant du siècle p. 13-14(1836)).

I’ve been working on my New Year’s Resolution (I resolve simply. Last year it was to floss). This year I resolve to kiss more. I mean in general. Friends, families, cheeks, lips, foreheads, dreams.
And I've been straitening up the world, fortifying against the oncoming onslaught of the winter semester. Running, exfoliating while listening to Led Zeppelin, stocking up on paper towel and drain cleaners (don't you wish you had me for a roommate).
Then my BFF (I want to use that word more than ever now) stopped by for a welcome home chat and shared a story of a dear someone's malaise. Very few times in our lives are we faced with news that leaves our brain doubting our ears.

When I was organizing my cardboard box "dresser" and my half o’ the closet, I sat in awe. Do I really own millions of thrift store finds? Do I ever match? Is it possible to get a headache just from looking at the constrastuous array in my closet-o?
This morning when I got dressed I faced myself in the mirror and thought, I didn't mean to dress like this. But it just so happens that this is what I liked and then I bought it and so I owned it and this is how I taught myself to piece it all together. Yes, a western print bandanna tucked in as an ascot peaking about my button up shirt (and acid wash jeans).

When I was younger (ages three to eighteen) I waged a personal revolution against matching. Then I got to universito and found other people had waged that war as well. Apparently we had won (at least in our eyes). But seeing so many other fellow revolutionaries, and finding overpriced "vintage" stores, made me start wondering if I had merely been waging a mutiny against Captain Queeg (the Caine Mutiny).
My heart clammed up. Where to turn?
But this year I decided to de-clam a bit and kiss. Hands, feet, noses, ears and you.

I sat thinking about this malaise for awhile this evening. President Henry B. Eyring (First Counselor of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints) said, “[God] cannot grant [that joy which we once had with Him in the life before this one] to us as individuals...We must seek to qualify for it with others” (“Our Hearts Knit as One.” November 2008 Ensign).

For the last year I’ve been floating in and out of disillusionment. You know, stereotypes, mantras, and all that jazz. I ate sushi with kids who would fill your brain with saddest sort of mud. And it was “rad.”
Where to turn when I liked my corduroy on corduroy separated by soft old plaid flannel? When my spirit soared as I danced in matte black rooms and was fed by words of the Smiths?
Well, on the old comfortable Rock that I’d been toting around in a bag. I laid it down on the ground and I’ve been trying to stand on it. It works well. Because when I stand on it I’m tall enough to kiss you.